The Life And Testimony Of Henry Fowler
Gospel Standard 1864:
The Experience Of The Late Henry Fowler, Minister Of The Gospel In Gower Street Chapel, London
I was born in the parish of Yealmpton, Devon, Dec. 11th, 1779. My father was advanced in years when he married my mother. He died 1784, leaving my mother with four children, and pregnant with the fifth. Three out of the five are gone, I believe, to glory. Glory to God for his free grace. After being a widow about three years, my mother was again married; and by an increasing second family I found my situation at home very uncomfortable, so that I often looked forward with some degree of pleasure to the time of my apprenticeship. Before I was 11 years old, I was put on trial with a Mr. E., of Dartmouth, where I continued but a few months. The family were Baptists, and Mr. E. a deacon of their cause. At that time the Baptist cause was very low at Dartmouth. They had no preacher, and twelve or fourteen used to meet in the chapel for prayer, &c., and I was compelled to attend also, sorely against my will. I was determined not to serve my apprenticeship with Mr. E. The name of Methodist I hated; for such was the term of reproach at that time cast on all Dissenters by our good Church folks. The Establishment I thought must be right, and all were disobedient both to God and the king who did not uphold the Church. Such were my early prejudices, and I acted accordingly; for I magnified their faults who were not of the Church, and expected much more from them than I did from our good Church folks.
On one occasion Mr. E. took me with him to a village three miles from Dartmouth, and he incautiously took more drink than nature required, or his sober habits would bear. I discovered nothing of his situation until we had walked some distance towards home, when lie staggered and fell into a ditch; but he being a little man, I with much hard labour got him out, and safely led him home, not without much hazard and many merciful preservations both to him and myself. It was very dark, and the road strange to me. I remember while walking in a narrow road hearing some horses coming behind us in full trot, and I thought if the horses had crooks, which were common in Devon, that our situation was most perilous; for on the left was a steep leading to an arm of the sea. I, therefore, hastily pulled Mr. E. after me into the bushes on the right, which providentially preserved us; but it was a narrow escape from danger or death. We at length got safe to Dartmouth; but as we passed through the town we had a long train of spectators, shouting lustily, so that I felt my situation not the most agreeable. On our entering our house, Mrs. E. was so excited that she first used her fist on her husband, and then on me. I thought this the greatest cruelty to me, as I was quite exhausted with leading Mr. E., and carrying a large bundle besides, and could not be very strong, as I was not quite 11 years old. This untoward circumstance greatly prejudiced my mind against Dissenters, and I made use of that and a few other things to induce my parents to remove me, which they did soon afterwards; and the following spring I was apprenticed at Plymouth, during which time God called me by his grace. But more of that in due course.
I have not mentioned the intoxication of Mr. E. with a view to expose human infirmity, nor to prejudice the minds of men against a man or body of men. It is but justice to Mr. E., to say that I never saw him intoxicated but that once; and in his family there was strict and good order. I have often thought that had I been able to judge of my true interest, and have served my apprenticeship with Mr. E., it had been a mercy for me. I might have escaped those “evil communications which corrupt good manners,” and have been preserved from many vices which are painful for me to reflect on to this day. David’s prayer is often mine: “Remember not the sins of my youth.”
I would here beg godly parents to be cautious in placing out their children, lest by studying their worldly advantage they are the means of ruining their morals, and bringing on themselves the most bitter reflections when it may be too late. Many a heedless youth has had reason to curse the day that he was placed in such and such a family. By it some become infidels and others complete debauchees before they arrive at the age of maturity. A God-fearing family is a blessing to a youth, and a blessing to society. Careless mortals often sneer at such families, and hold up their persons and character to contempt. But what do they do when they think they are about to die? Why, often send for the very persons they have despised to pray by them.
Among the earliest of my recollections I must name this. When about three years old, I was walking along a plank which was thrown across a strong mill-stream, and I fell into the water; but my screams, I suppose, brought one of my father’s men to the spot, and he drew me out, or I might have been carried a little further down the stream, where the water was much deeper, and have sunk to rise no more, as was the case with my father’s sister, not many years before. Thus, “one shall be taken, and another left.” “I will sing of mercy and judgment.” Also, I well remember my first school, and learning my letters from what was called “The Horn-book.” I think I was given to thought and reflection at a very early period; for I used to ask my mother many questions about God, Christ, heaven, Adam, his fall, &c. &c. I feared death greatly; I have trembled on my bed lest I should die before the morning. I could not sleep without saying my prayers; but I knew nothing in reality what prayer was. I was taught from my earliest lispings to say my prayers; and when I had repeated them, I thought the Lord was pleased with me for doing my duty; and in that deluded state I went on for years, sinning and repenting, repenting and sinning. How dark is the human understanding, both as respects the state of death we are in by the fall of Adam, and as it respects the precious redemption wrought out by the Son of God!
My mother was very strict over her children, and, according to her ability, she instructed us, causing us to read the blessed Scriptures, and catechising us every Lord’s day; and her rebukes were very keen if we told a lie, or used an improper word; which, though I seemed to pay no attention to in her presence, I have often wept over in secret, and vowed I would be better in future; but a few tears and a few dry prayers seemed to put all right again.
Soon after I left Dartmouth, as I have related, I was apprenticed at Plymouth. From the horrid company I was in all day, I contracted the awful habit of cursing and swearing when provoked, which was soon done. I used to give vent to my passion by the most vile and horrid language, even worse than my companions, who were much older than myself. Some were much pleased with my boldness and blasphemy; others reproved me, as being too young to use such language; and I remember my master cursed and swore at me for cursing and swearing! Indeed, I was placed in the very school of vice and folly. The most filthy and debauched conversation was sounded in my ears all the day; and such conversation, even by married men, as was by no means proper to be indulged in before boys. Their conversation, however, was a sweet morsel to my corrupt heart, and served as manure to enrich the soil already too rank with lust and evil propensities. Every year hardened me in sin. I kept company with some of the worst characters, and was the devil’s tool to plan schemes of mischief, as a pleasure to ourselves, but a torment to others. I remember one base plan of mine, when about 15, which was for five or six of us to rob the garden of Philip Gibbs, an old Baptist minister at Plymouth. The plan I had laid was approved of, and off we all went to carry it into execution. In order to enter the garden, we had to cross a burying-ground; but, as I crossed the ground, I was taken in a trembling state from head to feet. I saw all my companions enter the garden, but had no power myself to enter into it. Conscience spoke with a loud voice: “What! Rob the poor old man’s garden, and on a Sunday afternoon, while he is worshipping God?” Then the consequences, and a firm persuasion that my companions would be taken, shook me; so I leaped over the wall into the adjoining road, and ran as if pursued. Here God preserved me from public reproach; for two of the youths were taken by the servants, and they discovered the others that had made their escape, who were taken before the magistrate, publicly reproved, and fined half-a-guinea each. But, alas! I was as vile as they, and felt sorry that I had lost my courage. In many such matters and preservations I have cause to bless God; and I have thought if thieves generally had to pass through what I did, they certainly, from love to themselves, would give over the practice. Certain I am, “the way of transgressors is hard.”
I have already said that increasing years were attended with in creasing folly; and I followed every kind of amusement, so far as my money (which was very little) and opportunities would allow. And O how I used to please myself with the thought of the termination of my apprenticeship, that I might have more money, and mix with gay company, see something of life, and make myself more acquainted with the world, men, and things.
After I gave loose to the vanity of my foolish heart, which was darkened, I laid aside my usual forms of prayer; for I considered it highly improper to live as I did, (for my conscience was often lashing me,) and then after the sins of the day to call upon God. So that for several years I neglected prayer, and tried to buoy up my vain mind with such thoughts as these: “I will be better when I get old. I will repent, and live holy, and do what God has commanded. He has promised mercy in the eleventh hour to them that sincerely repent, and I know I can if I set about it!” O the blindness of the human understanding! But while I was thus reasoning, a sudden thought would often cross my mind: “What if you should be struck dead amidst your sins, as many have been! There is no repentance in the grave, whither thou goest.” This alarmed me much, at times; and to get rid of these melancholy thoughts, I sought for relief in company, cards, dancing, wrestling, &c., &c.; and while pursuing these foolish pastimes, I probably appeared happy to others, but was far otherwise in myself; for, in the midst of my apparent happiness, a sudden check of conscience would make me completely miserable, so miserable that I have fancied my companions must have seen the state of my mind. But on no account would I discover the least seriousness, lest my companions should reproach me, and call me Methodist; and though I had a conviction in my mind that they were in a better state than myself, yet I hated them with a perfect hatred, and called them hypocrites, knaves, &c. But everything like seriousness condemned my evil practices.
I remember one Lord’s day being made a prisoner by my shoe-maker’s unfaithfulness to his promise; and in the afternoon, as I sat gazing through the window, I saw an aged man mount a stool or chair. He sang the well-known hymn,
“Jesus, lover of my soul.”
I listened with all attention. He prayed with much apparent fervour. He gave out his text, and preached with remarkable zeal, amidst much contempt by the mob gathered together, composed of some of the worst of characters, all which he bore with uncommon patience. His patience so surprised me that I said to myself, “There is surely something extraordinary in this man.” The thought had no sooner crossed my mind than this was suggested to me, but from whence I know not to this day: “You will yet be a preacher of the gospel, and be called forth publicly to bear reproach, as this man is.” I fell back with trembling and consternation, for at that time I knew nothing of the gospel. I have, however, since the Lord called me by his grace, inquired about the poor old man, and have reason to believe that he knew nothing savingly of Christ; for he blamed Adam for falling, and said he might have held his primitive integrity, and that every man might be saved if he would! I was then, I judge, about 16, a time when nature’s fires begin to manifest themselves. I still went on “after the course of this world;” and, with increasing delight, I said, “Who will show me any good?” When I had passed my 17th year, I, with one of my companions, went in search of a commodious room, in order to practise what is called country dances; but as my companion thought he could make a better bargain if alone, he left me with a very poor shoemaker in his room. While my companion was absent, which was some time, the poor shoemaker fell into conversation with me, which I will relate to the best of my recollection.
“Young man,” said he, “can you read?” I said, “Yes.” “Then,” said he, “I shall be glad if you will read to me a little of that old book,” pointing to the window where the book lay; “for, what with sickness and poverty, I have very little time for reading.” I said, “I will;” and immediately I took the book and read the title-page. I said, “O, it is the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress!’ I used to read this book, several years ago; and it is just like ‘Robinson Crusoe!'” “That is a choice book,” he said; “but the author means more than appears at first sight.” He then with his awl pointed out to me the meaning of the frontispiece. “You see,” said he, “the pilgrim with a book in his hand. That book is the Bible, which, when God awakens a poor sinner to a concern for his eternal welfare, he reads with great concern, to see if there be any hope for him. You see he has turned his back upon the city of destruction. That represents a sinner in real concern about his salvation; he leaves his evil ways and evil companions.” This was rather unwelcome news to me, and as soon as there appeared an opportunity I proceeded in reading the “ingenious dreamer.” But frequently the poor shoemaker would stop me, and explain the different things I had read. One thing is still strongly impressed upon my memory. When the pilgrim came to the sepulchre, which was represented by a wood-cut, my instructor said, “You see by the Christian’s beholding the Saviour on the cross, he loses the burden from his back. That is designed to teach us this: The burden on his back represents the burden of guilt upon a man’s conscience when convinced by the Holy Spirit of his lost condition by the fall of Adam, under the sense of which a poor sinner is made to groan and cry for deliverance. By-and-by he comes to Christ for salvation, and beholds the suffering Saviour by faith. This removes the burden from his mind, and he loves Christ and cleaves unto him, and wonders at his great love in dying for guilty sinners.” As the poor shoemaker expounded, I felt something unaccountably strange working in my mind. I tried to set it all aside, and forget what he said, but could not. I left him, and ruminated over what had passed, and sensibly felt that I was in a dangerous state. I know not what became of the projected dance; but I was obliged to leave my companions, and, as often as I could, visit the poor shoemaker; but could not by any means open my mind to him, nor to any other person. But I imagine he suspected God had begun his good work in me, by the heart-felt pleasure he appeared to have when I entered his room, which was very frequently in an evening. I used to ask him a variety of questions about himself, how he became religious, &c. He said, “By the advice of a friend I went to hear Mr. Tanner, of Exeter, and his preaching had such an effect on me that I went home miserable, and begged of God to be my teacher, and I got a blessing indeed in his own time;” or to that effect.
[Perhaps my reader may wish to hear a little more of the poor shoemaker. He was taken ill of a typhus fever. I visited him; but he was mostly in a state of delirium. With great anxiety I watched for the lucid moment, and the Lord granted my request. I said, “Is Christ precious? Is it well with you?” He said, “Yes. My anchor’s fixed, and I shall outride every storm.” He died soon after. His name was William Arkwright. He was related to a very respectable family of that name in Derbyshire, as he told me he walked once from Exeter to see his cousin Arkwright, who was amazingly wealthy, and he generously gave him half-a-guinea for his 400 miles’ journey!]I became from this time more moral and religious; but, alas! it was chiefly in the flesh; for I knew no more of God’s way of saving sinners than a Hottentot. Duty! duty! I thought, must be done, or I shall be lost. I, therefore, resolved and vowed, and entered into a covenant with God that I would love and serve him. Not being able to pray, I got some ready-made prayers; but none that I had seen suited my case. After toiling some time with my dry prayer-books, I threw them aside to the moles and to the bats, and tried to pour out my heart to God, in unconnected and broken sentences, in bits and scraps, such as, “Lord, show me thy way; show me thy mercy. Save, Lord; I am lost. Pardon thou my sins.” On some occasions I used to find some liberty and meltings of heart; some encouraging promises or invitations used to come into my mind as I was in prayer; and often such scriptures as I had no recollection of having read; and I used to search the Bible, or inquire if such and such passages were in the Bible. On other occasions, and perhaps the next time I attempted to pray, I was filled with such horror and trembling and confusion of mind as I cannot well describe, so that I have not known what I have been uttering; and when I had done I have thought that I have been mocking God. I have appeared in my own eyes as the most consummate hypocrite living; the vilest sinner on earth. Yet I could not give up prayer wholly. I was often tempted to call no more on God’s holy name. But when I neglected prayer, I used to be condemned and lashed in my conscience; and these words were like a piercing sword: “Because I have called and ye refused; I have stretched out my hand and none regarded; but ye have set at nought all my counsel, and would none of my reproof; I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh.” (Prov. 1:24-26.) O! These words used to cut me through and through. These things happened to me from the 17th to the 18th year of my age, to the best of my recollection. I had not, as yet, heard any gospel minister since my first concern; neither did I suppose any class of people were right and good Christians but those of our national Establishment. I hated all Dissenters, and considered them enemies both to God and the king! Still I was restless in my mind. Worldly company and pleasure I could not join in, or take any pleasure from; or, if I was drawn aside by my companions, or by the wantonness and foolishness of my own heart, (which, to my shame was sometimes the case,) I have had the most fearful apprehensions afterwards, and have expected that judgment without mercy would certainly fall on my guilty head.
I kept my parish church regularly, carried the “Common Prayer-book,” and, with the kind assistance of an aged schoolmaster, I became tolerably well acquainted with the ritual. In this way I hoped to get peace. The clergyman was a most worthy, moral man, and his age and venerable appearance struck me with awe when I saw him in the pulpit. I listened to his sermon with all attention, but could not understand him. His low tone of voice, his indistinct pronunciation, his classical style, his apparent indifference in giving instruction to poor, ignorant sinners, grieved me much; so that I came to this conclusion: “No doubt he knows the way to heaven, being a man of learning and piety; and if he knew how anxious I am to know the way to life, he would certainly take more trouble to teach me.”
About this time, as I entered the church, the remains of Fox’s “Book of Martyrs,” on a bench, attracted my attention, which I looked at, and was struck with some of the sayings of the martyrs; but not being able to read well the black letter, and recollecting that I had the alphabet in Dyche’s spelling-book, I applied myself closely to learn it, which I soon accomplished, with a view to see what the religion of the martyrs was. Accordingly, when the church-door was open on a Lord’s day, I used to go and read during the whole service the “Book of Martyrs;” and certainly I received more instruction, and was much more entertained than I was by the poor old clergyman’s sermons. I now began to think that the martyrs only were right, and that religion, perhaps, had died with them. I knew not then what to do. I looked about among different classes of professors, to see if I could find any persons of a heavenly and self-denying spirit, and I could discover none in Plymouth so much like the old disciples as the Wesleyans. Their very plain dress, at that time, their loving spirit, their zeal to do good, inclined me to think that they were heaven-bound travellers. I, therefore, as often as I could, used to attend their place of worship, and often wished that some one of them would condescend to speak to me; but I thought they could see what a poor, ignorant creature I was, not fit to come nigh them. Had they made free and spoken to me, I verily believe I should have been carried headlong into the vortex of Arminianism; because their doctrine is so suitable to the condition of a poor sinner striving in his own strength, as I then was.
About this time a circumstance occurred, which I will briefly relate. God had, a few years before, opened the blind eyes of Dr. Hawker; so that as the light of truth gradually broke in upon him, he came forth to the light, and as God taught him, so he preached. His preaching created no small stir in the town and neighbourhood, and many poor sinners, I am well satisfied, were called under his ministry; but desperate was the rage of most of the pharisees in the town against him, and still more desperate was the mind of his dearest friend against him. His preaching was a means of stirring up several clergymen in the neighbourhood, for whom he used occasionally to preach, and the Lord evidently accompanied his word with power. Many a precious soul have I known called under his ministry. But more of this hereafter.
It fell out, but not by blind chance, that Dr. Hawker preached in the parish church in the vicinity of which I was born; for the clergyman of the parish appeared under some concern of soul, and had invited Dr. Hawker to preach for him, or, at least, be was prevailed upon to let Dr. Hawker preach. The effect was very striking; for many poor sinners were convicted under his ministry, some of whom I know died triumphing in Christ, the Friend of sinners. But the clergyman before mentioned was not, I fear, experimentally acquainted with the gospel. Hence a coolness on his part towards Dr. Hawker took place, and for many years before the clergyman’s death Dr. Hawker did not visit the village, to the great grief of many, and to the rejoicing of others. However, the effect of Dr. Hawker’s ministry was manifest. Many persons who had received the word of life from that dear man of God, used to walk to Plymouth to hear him on a Lord’s day, among whom were several of my dear relatives, which brought me into their company, so that I had an opportunity of bearing the conversation; and sweet indeed it sometimes was; but I was only a listener. These circumstances, together with the advice of one of the friends, induced me to hear Dr. Hawker, though with some degree of reluctance. But the day I heard him was indeed a memorable day to me. I remember not his text; but I thought he addressed the whole of his discourse to me. He described the state of blindness and darkness we were all in by nature, how ruined and helpless we were left by Adam’s fall, and what refuges of lies a poor sinner tried to run into when he saw his lost condition, and spoke much of the poor sinner’s fears, feelings, and mistakes. I was looking through the shoulders of men that stood by me, who were taller than myself; but his eye seemed to pierce me through. I was in a state of consternation, for I never knew what power under the preached word was before, nor could I make a judgment of it then.
After the doctor had described our fallen state and condition, he went on to speak of Christ in the glory of his Person, and of his ineffable love to poor, ruined, undone sinners, what he suffered in the garden and on the cross, and all the fruit of his everlasting love. I found a most intense desire in my soul spring up as he spoke of Christ; for Christ’s name was quite a new name to me, and a precious name also. Not that I knew that God was at work with me; but I went home with this persuasion, that I never should be happy until I knew Christ for myself.
From this time I read diligently the Scriptures, and I used to read all the religious books that fell in my way. Many of the books I read I have since known to be far enough from gospel truth, and were more calculated to puzzle than instruct the inquiring sinner; but the word of God was opened to my believing mind to my astonishment, particularly Jer. 31, Isa. 12, many of the Psalms, and the Epistles in many parts. Indeed the light that shone upon the Bible and in my heart astonished me, and I was like the hind let loose. Christ appeared in the Scriptures where I never thought to find him. Moreover, I found Christ to be precious in all his names, offices, and characters. I found much liberty in prayer; so that I became a wrestler, like Jacob, and told the Lord, with child-like simplicity, I could not live unless he blessed me. Sometimes, in reflecting on my freedom with the Lord, I have feared that I had gone too far, when suddenly scripture after scripture would come into my mind, and drive all my fears away; such as these: “Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you;” “I will pour upon the house of David, and upon the inhabitants of Jerusalem, the Spirit of grace and supplications; and they shall look upon me whom they have pierced, and mourn.” If I used to ask the Lord what I had done that he should thus bless me, his word, especially Jer. 31:3, used to overpower me. “I have loved thee with an everlasting love,” used to run through my mind twenty times over, and I stood amazed at the sovereign love of God manifested in Jesus, and to my heart also. I found much love and heart-cleaving to Dr. Hawker, and to all that I thought were the children, of God; so that I felt anxious to be acquainted with them, that we might compare notes; but I was naturally very timid and bashful. I have gone for miles after them to hear their spiritual conversation in returning from the house of God, and have had an additional blessing from their observations on this and that part of the discourse we had been hearing; for their feelings and mine exactly corresponded, which was an additional confirmation of my faith; and truly I was so knit to God’s people, above all the people upon the earth, that I could say, with Ruth to Naomi, “Where thou goest, I will go,” &c. Such words as these were very sweet to me: “Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the children of God!” and, “We love him because he first loved us.” “By this we know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren.” Old things indeed seemed passed away, and all things were made new. I cannot now say how long I was thus favoured; but I think, to the best of my recollection, it lasted several months.
PHOTO Henry Fowler—Gospel Standard 1864, Page 37, 69, 101, 133, 165, 197, 230, 161,
It was during this happy time last mentioned that I found a strong desire to preach Christ to poor sinners; and the light which God gave me upon his holy word encouraged me to think that he would fit and furnish me for the great work of the ministry. I prayed most earnestly to the Lord for the Holy Spirit to be my teacher, and be all to me that I needed; and sometimes I was assured that God heard and approved of my prayer. But more of this hereafter. During these days of my espousals, I was greatly favoured in hearing that blessed man, Dr. Hawker. I seldom heard him but I came away with my cup running over, and did not suppose there was another man like him on earth. I knew as yet nothing about the trial of faith, the power of unbelief, the plague of my heart, nor the sufferings of Satan. My judgment, indeed, was the judgment of a child. I spoke as a child; I acted as a child. My love and zeal burned like a torch. I wrote several letters to my unregenerate relations, and used to tell them what God had done for me; for I thought that hearing the blessed things the Lord had done for me would make them fall in love with Christ. But, alas! I found, to my great mortification, that my letters and words, in most cases, were like water spilled on the ground. Several of the brethren became acquainted with me, to whom I opened my mind most cheerfully, and many sweet times we have had together in prayer, in singing, and in conversation about Christ and his precious salvation. I thought I could contradict all the infidels in the world, from what I knew and had feelingly enjoyed of Christ and his love in my own soul. Little did I think of the clouds of darkness that were about to overshadow me; and about which I shall now say a little.
By little and by little I found my joys began to decline, and my heart to get cold towards Christ. In this state I strove hard in prayer, but could get no answer, and I became restless in my mind. I used to look over my Bible, and turn up the folded leaves, and hunt after the precious things I had enjoyed. Never did a sucking babe search after the mother’s breast with stronger desires than I did for the fresh discoveries of Christ; but all was dark and digressing. The precious promises hardly looked like the same words, and I began to think that all my former enjoyments were the effects of my heated imagination. “Surely,” I said, “if they had come from God, I should not have lost all sense and feeling of them.” I still searched my Bible, and particularly the Psalms, and now and then used to find David’s prayers expressive of my feelings, as if he had made them on purpose for me, which seemed to afford me momentary relief; but this was indeed of short duration; for the character of David appeared very different to mine in my eyes. I still attended the preaching of Dr. Hawker, but could seldom hear anything but what condemned me or distressed me. If I tried to lay hold of anything the good man said, it used to be torn from me in a moment by this suggestion: “You have turned your back upon Christ; you have no love to Christ; you have cast away his yoke,” &c.
About this time there was also a snare laid for my feet, so that my thoughts, while in church, were carried away with that powerful evil that Paul speaks of, Rom. 7:8. So distracted was I with my carnal affections toward the dying creature that I could hardly tell what the preacher said, and the more I strove against it, the more it prevailed over me, which used to fill me with guilt and confusion. Under these painful feelings, I determined to sit in the opposite end of the church, where the temptation would be out of my sight. I did so; and said to myself, “Now I shall be able to hear with more composure;” but, alas! What folly is bound up in the heart! I had no sooner removed my seat than I was beset in other ways, equally distracting. First, I was so sleepy that as soon as the text was given out, I fell into a doze, though I used every method to keep awake, such as pinching my flesh, taking snuff, standing in the seat, &c. This was the more surprising to me as it was contrary to my constitution and habits; for I was very thin, and my living was very plain and poor. I prayed that the Lord would take away this evil, for it seemed to me to be a mockery to be there, both to the minister and to God. I will not say the Lord heard my prayer in this instance; but this I know, my drowsiness left me, and then I hoped to be able to hear better; but here again I was mistaken. I was now so pestered with the things of this life that I seemed to be able to plan and order all things relative to my calling in life while at church much better than I could at home, nor had I the least power to put a stop to my rambling thoughts. When I left church, I used to hear the brethren say, “Well! What a most precious discourse we have had!” Another would reply, “I found it indeed good to be there;” the hearing of which struck me silent; and often I have crept out of the way of the saints, lest they should ask me some question, and so discover the dreadful state I was in; but no one soul knew of my temptations. I wished I had made no profession of religion, for now I seemed not fit for the world, nor the Lord’s family. In this state I hung down my head like a bulrush for many months. And at times I had such hard thoughts of God, such degrading thoughts of Christ, and such infidelity working in my mind, as have made me tremble. Self-pity also wrought so strongly in me that my thoughts have been carried beyond all due bounds; nay, till I could have pitied the damned in hell. Certain I am, but for God’s restraining power, or mighty grace, man would act as bad as the fallen spirits. During this my dreary path, one circumstance added much to my misery, which was this. A youth who was fellow-apprentice with myself, observing me often reading my Bible, and in prayer, and hearing my conversation about the things of God in time past, was so wrought upon, though previously a very nighty youth, that he became all at once very serious, and lamented his ignorance, for he was not able to spell a monosyllable. I was highly gratified with his appearance of piety, and told him I would gladly teach him anything I knew, which indeed was very little. However, I soon taught him to read a plain chapter, which much delighted him and myself also. I found a great affection for this poor, neglected youth; and seeing, as I then thought, some hopeful signs of religion in him, I used every means to promote his eternal welfare. He left his vain companions, and his vile conversation, and would often be inquiring about the things of God, apparently like one hungering and thirsting after righteousness; and thus he went on for several months. But when I sank into the state before described, I evidently perceived a gradual declining in my young convert; and by little and little he threw off the mask, and became one of the most filthy and obscene youths in conversation I ever knew; and he also ridiculed all religion, as might be supposed. This circumstance added to the weight of my other trials. I thought, as he fell, so should I, and give up religion altogether, which thought, at times, made me tremble; but at other times I was careless and indifferent about it. In one of my indifferent moments, I passed by my old dancing-room. I halted and said, “I’ll go in for once. I will not dance, but just look on.” I did so; but I had not been there many minutes before I began to tremble, and stop I could not, the agitation of my mind was so great; for either in the room, or just as I left it, these words rang in my conscience: “We know the Son of God is come, and the whole world lieth in wickedness.” I saw in one moment where all the world stood in a state of darkness, death, and condemnation, and myself among the number, only my case seemed much worse than the ungodly world; for I was a gospel-hardened wretch! This cured me of ever entering a dancing-room afterwards; but it did not soften my heart.
At another time I joined one or two of my more moral former companions; and while at play in a field with a very hard ball, I injured the principal finger of my right hand. This I considered an evident judgment upon me for my base conduct. I left my companions with hell in my conscience, nor could the surgeon restore my injured finger; and often when I look at it, it reminds me of my baseness to the best of friends. But mercy was in this dispensation, for I was brought once more to cry heartily to God; and in my simplicity I said, “Lord, if thou canst show mercy once more to a wretch like me, I’ll be content if I never receive another.” The sweet humbling sense of grace he granted me I shall never forget. But this unexpected favour did not last long. The dew soon dried up, and I was left to feel the desperate depravity of my nature. Nor did I once suppose that any of the Lord’s children were exercised with such things. I therefore shunned them as much as possible, and was determined, as soon as I had my liberty, to leave that part and go to London, where I was not known. I determined to say nothing to any one about religion, go where I might; and as the day of my liberation drew nigh, I disposed of all my books, except my Bible and Dr. Watts’s hymns, saying that they were too heavy to carry about, and that I could purchase more in town; but no one knew my determination, nor the exercises of my mind; and so different was the opinion of my friends concerning me to my own, that several said, “We hope God will make you a preacher before you return;” which deeply wounded my feelings, though I concealed it from them as well as I could. I reflected on their words, and said to myself, “God make me a preacher of his gospel! Poor souls! O how you are deceived in me! What a base hypocrite I must be! O! Did you know one half that is in my heart, you would turn me out of your company, and never speak to me more!”
All relating to myself that I have written hitherto, took place before I was 19 years old.
Soon after I was 19, I set off on foot for London; a distance of more than two hundred miles. I walked about 60 miles the first two days; but as I was descending a steep hill at the close of my second day’s march, very tired, I suddenly stepped on a round stone, and at once sprained my ancle. It was with great difficulty I got to a lodging, and the next day I could hardly set my foot to the ground. All thought of walking the rest of my journey I was obliged to abandon; but having but little money, and the coach fares being high, I was obliged to state my situation to the coachman, who said he was going only 36 miles, but would gladly take me for a few shillings, and speak to the next coachman on my behalf; and by these means I came safe to London, through the Lord’s goodness. My foot also got better by the means used, and by rest on the coach. This was in April, 1799.
I must look back to my first day’s journey, and, indeed, I shall ever have cause to bless God for his goodness to me by the way on that day. I had to ascend a long and steep hill; and as I ascended very slowly, I was musing on the past scenes of my life, and wondering the Lord had not cut me off in the midst of my sin and rebellion, when a sudden thought struck me: “I will take out of my pack Watts’s hymns, and read as I walk slowly up this tiresome hill.” I did so; and cast my eye on,
“Blest are the souls that hear and know,” &c.
A light and sweetness attended every line as I read; but when I came to these words,
“His righteousness exalts their hope,
Nor Satan dares condemn,”
I stood still awhile, overcome with a sense of the love of Christ. I sang, and I wept for joy, and blessed and praised the Lord for his tender mercy towards me; and those words, “his righteousness,” appeared grand indeed! When I arrived at the summit of the hill, I felt as if I must return again, in order to tell my friends who feared God what he had done for my soul. All around me seemed to look gay; for God had turned “the shadows of death into the morning.” I stood awhile leaning on the top of my staff, hesitating whether I should go forward or return. At length I came to a conclusion to go forward, trusting in the Lord to prosper my way, and preserve me from sinning, that I might not dishonour him, nor wound my conscience. I had not had so clear a discovery of my acceptance in the Beloved, and of my full and complete salvation by his justifying righteousness as I was favoured with at that time. Also, many scriptures, to encourage, confirm, and establish me in my faith, pressed on my mind; so that I went on my way rejoicing. But O! what a change was wrought in my feelings! for though I had “been among the pots,” I was now “like the wings of a dove, covered with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold.” (Ps. 88:13.)
This visitation from God refreshed my spirit, and continued with me for some time after I arrived in London, though not with that fulness of joy as at the first. My understanding was also much enlightened by the Holy Spirit as to the glorious plan of our redemption, as laid down in the holy scriptures; and my meditation of Christ, as the glorious Redeemer, was truly sweet.
I thought when I arrived at London how much I should be favoured in hearing, as I had been told of such a variety of excellent ministers of Christ in the great city. I, therefore, began to ramble about from one place to another, but could glean very little; for most of the preachers I heard, I have my fears, knew little or nothing of the Holy Spirit’s teaching, or of Jesus Christ my Lord. I wondered how it was that I could seldom hear any of them with any soul satisfaction. It was indeed a grief to me, and I was led to a serious inquiry as to the cause. What help I have had at those times was chiefly in reading, in meditation, in prayer, and in conversation with two or three of God’s children.
By degrees, during the summer of 1799, I lost my enjoyments, and my situation in life was most trying. I had to labour day after day with some of the worst of Adam’s fallen race. They were, for the most part, either debauched deists, or empty professors of religion; and between the two I was ground as between two millstones. Having had blessed discoveries of Christ and his precious salvation to my heart with such demonstration and power, and then to meet with men who called the truth of the Bible in question, who vilified that precious Redeemer, whom my soul loved, used to touch me most sensibly, so that I was not able to keep silence in their company; and from the warmth and zeal of my heart, I have confuted many of those daring infidels with whom I have been working; and some of the outside empty professors of religion have been much confounded as the infidel party by the arguments I was enabled to bring forth. Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, God will perfect praise. But O! What with their subtle reasoning, and their filthy and debauched conversation, my life was miserable, and I used to be truly glad to leave their company.
One thing, however, used to puzzle me much, which was, that I used in private to fall in with the worst things that I heard in the course of the day. Satan, I have thought it might be, took the advantage of me; for I used to have this suggestion, that I had been speaking more than I ought to have done, that it was pride and presumption in one so young as myself. My path, at this time was rough and thorny; and the many snares and temptations in London, suited to the depraved passions and carnal vigour of youth, many times threatened my downfall; but the Lord preserved me from grossly sinning and giving loose to the powers of corrupt nature. At the same time I was made to feel that I had no room to boast; for the worst scenes I beheld without were not worse than I felt in my own heart; the feeling of which often made me groan in secret. Indeed, such was the powerful working of my depravity that all my comfort was at times swept away by it; and I often came to this conclusion, that, if the work of God upon my heart had been genuine, I should not feel so much corruption, or have more power to beat down the old man. But I was a young soldier, and not skilled in the war; and having in a great measure lost my enjoyments, which I was doatingly fond of, I thought my experience singular. Some of the ministers that I used to hear at this time, instead of helping me, rather hindered me; for if I went to hear with some little hope of having my path a little cleared up, I came away cut up and cast down. One old minister made this observation in his sermon once: “Do you complain that you have lost your comforts? See if you cannot find out the cause. Perhaps you have neglected prayer, or the means; or you have not mortified the old man. See how the work of sanctification goes on. Don’t tell me about justification; for without practical holiness no man shall see the Lord.” I thought the good man must be right, and myself wrong; and I became entangled with his legal preaching, and much broken in my judgment. Those preachers, too, often used to warn their hearers against the Antinomians and their dangerous doctrines, and they would use all their powers of oratory in blackening the Antinomians. For my part I knew of none; but at length upon inquiry I found that those pious men meant William Huntington, John Bradford, and a few others; but there were not many such awful characters in London, as far as I could learn; and I was glad of it, and was determined not to hear them. But there was one difficulty I could not well surmount.
I had promised some friends of mine in the country that I would hear Mr. Huntington when I got to London; and so I came to a conclusion that I would hear him some week night when it did not interfere with my more frequented places of worship. Then I thought I shall have fulfilled my promise, and I shall also have a confirmation of what I have heard about him. I will watch him very narrowly. I went accordingly to hear Mr. Huntington, but in a very secret way, lest any of my acquaintance should see me. I was much struck with his plain style and clear distinct delivery. His aptitude in the scriptures, and the proof he brought to establish every point of doctrine that he advanced, I could not gainsay nor resist; but still I was determined not to receive him in my affections; for I thought if this man is such a vile character, as no doubt he is, or so many pious men would not speak against him, and if I should embrace his sentiments, what an awful character I shall turn out at last! I am such a poor depraved wretch already; and if I should embrace his doctrine, it will be like manure, and my corruptions will all break loose in all their abomination; therefore I will stop up every door that his doctrine may not enter, except into my memory. Well, I heard him, and was much surprised at his astonishing memory and acquaintance with every part of the Bible; I felt sorry that so bad a man should have such good abilities; and I said to myself, if this man were a real man of truth, how bright he would shine! I went away quite disappointed that he did not confirm the things I had heard about him. I could not get his sermon out of my head, for it went no farther; but went home and related the principal parts of it to a good old woman, who seriously said to me, “I am afraid, my young friend, you have done wrong by hearing him.” I said, “Dame, I could discover nothing contrary to the truth in what I heard.” She said, “You might not; but a man might preach many gospel truths, and still be an awful character. He is a man of a very bad spirit,” &c. This poor old disciple (for such she was) I believe had never heard him; but she had been told a great deal against him by the pious people at Keppel Street, with whom she stood connected, and she believed it. No doubt it was from sincere motives that she warned me against Huntington. Ignorance and prejudice often carry the real disciples of Christ to great lengths; and it is the devil’s work to stir up the hearts both of saints and sinners against the free grace gospel of Christ; but it is the only remedy for man’s deplorable misery. Satan will sanction all religion but the religion that exalts Christ and brings liberty to poor captives.
PHOTO Henry Fowler—Gospel Standard 1864, Page 69, 101, 133, 165, 197, 230, 161,
The summer of 1799 drawing to a close, and my labour beginning to fall off, I began to think what I should do, and where I should go to seek employ. I at length agreed to go to Bath and Bristol with a young man of my acquaintance. This was in August. My companion left me at Bath; nor did I want his company; for he was an Arian Baptist. I went on to Bristol, where I was employed for the most part of three months, when I returned again to London. When I went to Bristol I had an idea that I should be much favoured in hearing some of the excellent preachers there that I had been told of, and I went to most of the churches and chapels where it was reported the gospel was preached; but I found neither dew nor rain, oil nor salt. Some were tolerably sound in the leading doctrines of the gospel, but still before they had finished their sermon they would foul the waters with their feet.
Their candour and liberality, too, were such, that they formed an association, that is, most of the ministers, if not all; and they used to meet once a month, and preach down bigotry, and preach up candour; and this group consisted of Arminians, Presbyterians, Independents, Baptists, &c. I heard one of the preachers say in his sermon, “We hail this happy day. Now we can meet as brethren, and give to all the right hand of fellowship!” I would fain have joined in with him, for my eyes were not sufficiently opened to discern the difference between a fleshly religion and that religion that stands in power; but could not, and I appeared in my own eyes “a speckled bird.” “Well,” he went on to say, “We are now happily united in promoting the prosperity of the Redeemer’s kingdom. It was time indeed to lay aside our little differences in opinion, and be more closely united in opposing the grand enemy. O this is a day I have long wished to see.” The people also seemed in high glee, and they sang lustily to express their joy that all bigotry was now laid aside, at least in Bristol. I looked at these things with astonishment, and I made my own reflections. “Bigotry knocked down,” I said. “Stop! Let me inquire what it is the folk mean by bigotry. As I reflected, it struck me that a body composed of such materials was not very likely to promote the prosperity of the Redeemer’s kingdom. These proceedings begat in me some unfavourable thoughts about the association; yet I checked myself, lest I should grow too uncharitable; and said to myself, “I am but a poor solitary individual; and so many gospel ministers and people surely cannot be deceived!”
There was another thing which much puzzled me, they seemed all union and love; but I could feel no love to them. Bristol, at that time, was full of professors of religion of one sort and another, and many of my shopmates were thorough-paced Arminians. God having led me into a further knowledge of the glorious plan of salvation by grace alone, I could not keep silence to hear them vilify the doctrine of election and predestination, of Christ’s imputed righteousness, and the final perseverance of the saints. I knew if these doctrines were not the doctrines of the Bible, there was no hope for me; but having tasted their divine power and sweetness, I was constrained to contend earnestly for them; which used to bring me into continual trouble, and they used to call me Antinomian, bigot, narrow spirit. God has often favoured me with such freedom of speech, and, such a ready recollection of his word, when I have been contending with them, that they have left arguing the point, and vented their malice by the basest insinuations. One man in the shop was pointed out to me as a perfect man in the flesh. I never saw him smile that I can recollect, but he was stern and reserved to all about him. I took an opportunity to walk his road, in order to converse with him about religion, but could get no access; for he was as surly as a bear; which made me think that he was not quite so perfect as the poor deluded Arminians had represented him to me.
Among the many professors I met with in Bristol, there was but one man who seemed to be acquainted with the things of God experimentally. Doubtless there were many hidden ones of the Lord’s own children there; but it was my unhappiness not to find them out. But by this time I began to suspect that there was but very little real religion in Bristol; yet I had some sharp conflicts in my mind when I thought so. I am now at a point that their zeal for religion, their associations, their missionary efforts, their great love for candour, and their hatred to bigotry, all arose from the flesh, from delusion, from enmity to a free-grace gospel, and from the devil, whose interest it is to blind the minds of them that believe not, and prejudice their hearts against God’s glorious and divine sovereignty. One zealous missionary advocate that I was working with one day proposed a question to his shopmates, chiefly Arminians, whether it was any sin for a man to buy a ticket in the national lottery, with a view to aid the cause of God, if a prize should turn up. Not waiting for an answer, he proceeded to say, “I have a great desire to aid the missionary cause; but I have no money. If I should buy a ticket, and it should prove a prize of any considerable amount, I could support one missionary; and would not that be doing a great deal of good?” Most of the men expressed their approbation, but I was silent; and by my silence he appealed to me for my opinion. I said, “You remind me of God’s command to Saul, and of his conduct. God told Saul to spare none, but put all to the sword. However, Saul saved some of the best of the sheep, no doubt for his own use, though he hypocritically told the prophet they were to be offered in sacrifice to the Lord. Now you talk of buying a ticket in the lottery, and of what you are going to do for God if you get a prize. Why, God does not wish you to do evil that good may come. I wish all true missionaries prosperity; and if the cause be of God, he is able to support it, and will; but I should be afraid that after you had got your prize, you would think about yourself before the missionary cause.” What lengths of absurdity and folly a man may run to, if God be not his teacher.
I returned to London, as I have observed, in about three months, in hope of shortly obtaining employ; but I had to meet with many trials during that very severe winter, 1800; nevertheless, the Lord was very gracious to me; and in providence also the Lord appeared very kind to me; for he gave me favour in the eyes of my employer, so that he actually discharged his leading man, and put me in his place, for the man he discharged was unsteady. This man much tried me, for he had a clear knowledge of the doctrines of grace in his head, and used to hear Huntington and Burnham, and write some hymns that contained sound truth. But his habits of drunkenness were such that I reproved him severely; and the last time I reproved him, he said, “I thought you believed in predestination.” “I am a predestinarian,” I said. “Then,” said he, “don’t you suppose that my drinking is according to the decrees of God?” I was so struck with the man’s hardness of heart, and awful presumption, that I paused, and then said, “And if all things are according to God’s decrees, why not my telling you your faults among the rest? God’s revealed will,” I said, “is our rule to follow, and not to sin, that grace may abound. Besides, consider the injury you are doing your poor family, and to yourself also, as well as bringing a reproach on the good ways of God.”
These remarks touched him, and he was silent and sullen; but shortly broke out into his old practice again, for which he was discharged from his employ. I met him some time afterwards in Soho Square, and he aimed a blow at me, which I avoided, and said, “What! Do you mean to lay your faults to me, and smite with the fist of wickedness?” His conscience smote him, his lips quivered, he turned pale, his strength seemed taken from him, and he sneaked away like a thief. “The way of transgressors is hard,” especially gospel-hardened transgressors. I never saw him afterwards. During this winter I enjoyed much favour from the Lord, both in providence and grace. Just as the winter ended, my employer was a bankrupt, and I was discharged; but that was a time of no difficulty to get employ; and I was constantly employed the whole of that summer.
But many sore trials and inward conflicts I passed through, both while I was at Bristol and during the following year. My depraved heart and the darkness of soul I frequently laboured under were such that I often thought I must give up all religion. But O, the thought of turning my back upon Christ was horrible to my feelings! And sometimes I thought he looked upon me, and said, “Will you also go away?” which used to break my stony heart, and I would say, “Lord, to whom can I go? Thou hast the words of eternal life.”
During the summer of 1800, I used to ramble about London to hear various preachers, such was my folly and want of good judgment; but I gathered very little. There were one or two preachers that used to visit Tottenham Court Road Chapel at that time, that I was rather attached to, particularly Thomas Grove, who would state very boldly some of the leading doctrines of divine truth; and I hope he had an experimental knowledge of them. But he appeared to decline very much some years afterwards, as I have been told by some godly people at Walsall. I met Mr. Grove once in Walsall, and shook hands with him, and thanked him for the many precious truths I had heard him advance in London some years before, which pleased him much; and this led to a further conversation; but when I gave him to understand that I was settled over the people in Birmingham, over whom John Bradford used to preside, he grew very cold all at once, and left me.
In the summer of 1800, I was exceedingly depressed at times, which I thought was brought on partly by the pride and vanity of my mind, and partly by the dreadful workings of my corrupt heart. I have trembled when I have left my home lest I should be left to fall into some abominable sin; for I was so surrounded with snares and temptations, that I was certain if God did not mercifully preserve me, I must fall; and what was still worse, I sometimes wished that I could be left to gratify my corrupt desires. How devilish and abominable is man’s heart! But there was a text that was fastened on my mind, and I may say was my constant monitor. It was this, ‘Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? By taking heed thereunto according to thy word.” These words have often been to me like the whip for the fool’s back; and by them. I have often been preserved from presumptuous sins. I found the more I strove in my own strength to subdue the besetting sins of my nature, the more I was overcome by them; and I wrote bitter tidings against myself. I had also such bondage in my spirit, and such dragging work in prayer, that I sometimes could not pray, nor bow my knees before God. And hearing seemed of no use to me, for none of the preachers that I heard seemed to understand my case. Thus I went about, hanging down my head, at times, like a bulrush, and despair fast approached me. If I tried to look back upon former mercies and deliverances, they seemed buried out of my sight. I came to this conclusion, that I had made a grand mistake at the beginning of my profession, that I was never properly convicted, that I never hated sin as sin, that I had presumed to make free with Christ and his promises without a divine warrant, that my religion was of the flesh, that I was a hypocrite in grain, that I was cut off and that I was a castaway, that now there was nothing to be expected but a “fearful looking-for of judgment, which should devour the adversaries,” that I had told lies, and imposed upon God’s people; that my sins would be all brought to light soon, and then I should be made to appear in my true character, as having been the vilest impostor in the world. Those who have travelled this dreary path can judge, and none beside, what my feelings were in this time of temptation. There was one prayer I remembered in Jeremiah, which I used to put up to God frequently, which was this: “Be not a terror unto me; thou art my hope in the day of evil.” And I used to say, “Lord, I have no hope but in thee, no hope of being saved but in Jesus and by him;” and I used to be a little revived; but it was but momentary, and was often followed by the most horrible thoughts that could enter the mind of man. If I went to hear preaching, I was almost sure to be cut to pieces in my feelings, for I used to be goaded on by the preacher to holiness and diligence, and to make the moral law the rule of my life; but I found the law to be “the letter that killeth.” One day I made my mind up to go, for the last time, to hear preaching. I went to hear John Newton, in Lombard Street, on a Lord’s day morning, sorrowful and sad enough. The preacher took for his test a passage out of Jonah: “When my soul fainted within me, I remembered the Lord, and my prayer came in unto thee, even in thine holy temple.” The words seemed very sweet to me; and the preacher went into a variety of trials and temptations that the children of God were exercised with, showing by the word that tribulation was the usual path to God’s kingdom; and then he sweetly spoke of Christ as sympathising with his afflicted members in all their sorrows and trials, &c. The Lord was pleased to make that sermon a special blessing to me, and I left the church with all my burdens taken off, and my soul was taken once more out of prison. “O that men would praise the Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!” I well know what David meant by that prayer of his: “Bring my soul out of prison, that I may praise thy name.” I went to dine with a godly woman that day; and as soon as I entered, she said, “Your face shines; I am sure you have had some of the good wine of the kingdom today;” for she saw my gloom was dispersed. I said, “Yes, blessed be God, I have. The Lord has turned my captivity. This has been a blessed jubilee to me;” and I related the matter to her out of the abundance of my heart. She said, “I was persuaded the Lord would appear for you; for he is faithful to his promise.” I believe she partook of my enjoyments, and we rejoiced together, and praised the Lord. I now began to read my Bible with more pleasure; and my eyes received a fresh anointing, so that I could discern more clearly than before between the precept and the promise, between the law and the gospel, while Christ appeared more glorious in my eyes as my only blessed Mediator, Husband, and Friend; nor could I forbear speaking of him and his love, grace, and full redemption. I rejoiced that I was not under the law, but under grace.
Now that the Lord had turned my captivity, it again occurred to my mind that I should yet be called forth to speak to poor sinners in the name of the Lord; my mind was continually ruminating on the work of the ministry, and I thought my prayers to that end were approved by the Lord; for I found no rebukes when I prayed to him, but many encouraging promises.
The summer of 1800 being now nearly at an end, and my work falling off, I begged the Lord’s direction in my future movements. But I little thought what was coming; for a few days afterwards, I was taken ill of a fever, and laid by several weeks. I was reduced very weak in body. On one occasion I heard my nurse say to my medical attendant, “What do you think of him, Sir?” He said, “I fear he is in great danger. There is but one thing more I can give him that is likely to do him good.” This news sank me very low. I was indeed in much darkness during my affliction; but I bad not the fear of death, nor dread of hell; nevertheless, I was much puzzled to make out my path, as I had been favoured so much just before. The only thing I wished to live for was to preach Christ to poor sinners, that they might be blessed and he glorified.
A few hours after my medical man left me, an old disciple called on me, and I believe she concluded my life was nearly at a close. She asked me how I was; but my dark state of soul and my great debility prevented me from giving her an immediate answer. At length I told her as to the state of my mind. The dear old disciple said, in a most emphatical tone, “God has been gracious to you, and what have you to fear? Has not God said, I will never, never leave thee, nor forsake thee?” She had no sooner said these words than the Lord applied them with power and sweetness to my heart; and as soon as I could recover myself, (for I was quite overcome with a sense of the Lord’s goodness), I said, “Yes!and bless his holy name, I know he will never leave me nor forsake me!” A few hours afterwards, the medical man called on me to see the effects of his last effort, and was quite surprised. He said, “The fever has left him; he will do well.” He did not know that the best Physician had visited me, even Jesus Christ. O how sweet are the visits of Jesus in a time of real need, no matter how poor and insignificant the instrument he makes use of to bring the blessing.
From that time I began to gain strength in body and soul; for the sunshine of the Lord’s presence shone sweetly upon me; and though I was somewhat tried in temporals through my affliction, and had no prospect of work when I got well, yet these things did not much trouble me. If God give peace, who then can make trouble? It was several weeks before I gained strength sufficient to undertake a journey; but as soon as I judged it prudent, which was late in October, I went to Portsea. During my slow recovery, I had much time for reading and meditation. The Lord indeed blessed me much at times in reading his word, the sense of which has lasted for days, up to the time of my going to Portsea. The morning I left for Portsea, I was as happy in my soul as a man could wish to be this side glory. I sat behind on the coach alone, when we started from Charing Cross; and as we passed along Westminster Bridge, I sang with inexpressible pleasure that well-known hymn:
“Guide me, O thou great Jehovah.”
There was a large fire blazing at Wapping; and from that bridge we beheld that striking emblem of the last great day. That fire I believe consumed several hundred houses. It being long before daylight, the sight was very striking to me, and furnished me with some profitable meditations as I travelled. But this prosperity of mine was very short-lived; for it rained nearly the whole of the journey, and at times in such torrents as I have seldom been exposed to; and not being well prepared for such weather, nor properly established in my health, I caught a cold, and was seized in the most violent manner in the night at the inn where I slept. I thought I could not live till daylight; but the Lord was merciful to me. I could scarcely walk when I left the inn, yet, through his tender mercy, I was relieved in a few hours, and, though very debilitated, I got quite well in a few days, and sought labour, which I obtained immediately; and was mostly employed during my continuance at Portsea.
During my continuance at Portsea, which was two months, I had to take up my cross day by day; for I met with such trials as I never expected to pass through again in this world. Mine was not an outward cross; for I had not much to try me in that respect, having good health, and labour for my hands; but I was attacked first by infidelity; and this so prevailed over me that I was led into all sorts of carnal reasoning; and when I read my Bible, every deistical objection was raised in my mind against the truth of the Holy Scriptures, so that I was made completely miserable. If I tried to call to mind my former mercies, and God’s gracious deliverances, it was all set at defiance, and laughed at, as it were, by this gigantic monster infidelity. Such was the confusion produced in my mind, I could see no sort of self-consistency in those parts of the word of God which I read. All the arguments which deists usually bring against the truth of the Bible, and which I had heard much of before, came into my mind in torrents, especially when I took up my Bible, or attempted to pray; insomuch that I have trembled when I have opened the book of God; and sometimes I have closed the book, and thrown it down in a terrible rage, and in my heart found fault with the Lord, that he had not revealed his mind and will more plainly, and less liable to objections. O the awful hardness, rebellion, and blindness of my heart! I seemed now to be in the worst condition that I was ever in. It was so unaccountably strange to me, that, after so many mercies and deliverances, I should be plunged into this horrible pit, where no water is!
In this horrible place I struggled for several weeks, yet not without rays of light occasionally, but they were not abiding; and sometimes such was the violence of temptation that it was with difficulty I could attend to my lawful calling. I remember one day, as I was walking in the market at Portsmouth, that I was suddenly assaulted with a spirit of blasphemy and rebellion, that I could not tell what to do with myself; and the enemy suggested, You had better throw yourself into the sea and drown yourself, and then you will have done with all this misery. This made me shudder, that such a desperate thought should ever enter my mind; yet, I felt as angry vitL the Lord as Jonah. In this state I moped about in the market for some time, reasoning, cavilling, and contending in my spirit with the Lord, why he suffered me to come into this state. At last those words came most powerfully into my mind: “Be not as the horse, or as the mule, which have no understanding, whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle.” This stopped my rebellion in a short time; and I said to myself, “Why, I have been acting like a beast! Hath not the Lord a right to try me as he pleases?”
PHOTO Henry Fowler—Gospel Standard 1864, Page 101, 133, 165, 197, 230, 161,
One day, when I was very much tried with a spirit of infidelity, so that it was with difficulty I could do my work, it came into my mind that, as soon as I went to dinner, I would once more go and pour out my soul to God, and beg of him to remove every stumbling-block out of my way, and show me plainly that the Bible was his own revealed truth. I did so, and found the blessed Spirit to help my infirmities. When I took my Bible, I opened it at that part which I most stumbled at, and a divine light shone on the sacred page, so that I stood surprised at my own ignorance; and it forcibly struck me that I had been under the power of Satan, and that he was the author of most of the base and God-dishonouring things that I had felt working in my heart. I said, “Satan, thou art a liar. The Bible is true. Thy lies and my blindness have been the source of my confusion.” The snare was now broken, and my soul was made to escape from one of the worst places that a pardoned sinner can ever be brought into.
During this time of temptation I often tried to bring my past deliverances forth, and set them in battle array against my fears; but all in vain; the temptation of the enemy was too strong for me; and by it I was taught much more of my extreme weakness than I ever knew before. When I used to make use of any word in prayer that implied appropriation, or attempted to remind the Lord of his former mercies, I was sure to be assaulted most grievously that my religion was a delusion, that no one that was a partaker of grace could ever sink so low as to doubt the truth of all revealed religion; that I was a real deist, but too much of a hypocrite to acknowledge it.
In reflecting on this hour of temptation, I am inclined to think that it was God’s school of instruction, and that he was preparing me to be of some service to his people; and I do believe that the school of affliction is better calculated to make a useful minister of Jesus Christ than all the learning taught in all the universities and academies in the universe. I do not wish by this remark to offend any man who may have received a classical education; but what I would insist upon is, that all the human acquirements that a man may have cannot make him a minister of Jesus Christ. Paul, no doubt, had plenty of human learning; but he was obliged to cast it overboard, as mariners do the goods of an overladen vessel; and to speak, “not in the words which man’s wisdom teacheth, but in the words which the Holy Ghost teacheth.”
While I was at Portsea, I met with no one person that I could freely converse with on spiritual matters. I used to hear Mr. Miall, Mr. Horsey, and Mr. Griffin, and they sometimes preached tolerably clearly as to the doctrines of the gospel; but there was nothing in their preaching calculated to relieve a tried sinner; and as for the hearers, they appeared very well satisfied with their duties and with themselves. But I must say of Portsea, as I have said of Bristol, there might be many of the Lord’s hidden ones there, but I had not the happiness to find them out.
I left Portsea for Plymouth Dock, (now Devonport,) about Christmas, by a small vessel. I wanted to see some of my old friends, and tell them a little of the Lord’s goodness to me. It was very smooth when we set sail; but as we passed the “Needles,” the wind blew very high, and the sea rolled over the deck of the vessel, so that we were obliged to close the hatchway with all speed, or we should have been sunk. A very high sea continued most of the night; but the wind was in our favour. We had also good moonlight, and no fogs; and by the goodness of God, who “manages the seas,” I landed at Devonport after 23 hours’ sail. Thus I was again brought back near my native place to have more trials and more mercies.
I was just now passed my 21st year. Upon reflecting, as well as my memory will assist me, I think I had something like the feelings of the patriarch Jacob, on his return to his native place. There is, somehow, a predeliction for the place of our nativity, more especially when we are young, and have not travelled much. I think I looked back with admiration on the goodness of my God, who had preserved me amidst many sore trials both in body and in mind, during my rambling here and there. “Whoso is wise, and will observe these things, even they shall understand the loving-kindness of the Lord.”
I desire to bless my God that he hath made room for me in the hearts of many hundreds of his own children, that I am personally acquainted with in town and country, and some out of this country; and I doubt not but I live in the affections of many by means of my writings, whose faces I never saw. It is, therefore, for the sake of the called in Christ Jesus I chiefly write, that they may glorify God in me, if they are favoured to receive any spiritual profit by my narrative.
Being brought to my native place, and having gained by spiritual trading, and as the Lord gave a door of utterance, I soon became the companion of many gracious people, too many, as I now think; but my heart was warm, and I could not forbear speaking of the precious name of Jesus; for he was to me the fairest among ten thousand, the altogether lovely. His word also was my meditation day and night; for he had made darkness light and crooked things straight, according to his blessed promise. I was, therefore, always ready for spiritual conversation at this period, which united many to me, and we have walked and talked until midnight of Jesus and his grace; of his blood and righteousness; of his precious promises and sweet invitations; of the high and blessed privileges of his saints, as heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; and of that inheritance which is incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away. These were times of refreshing from the presence of the Lord, that ought to be borne in remembrance.
At, or about this time, I had also such a blessed view of the covenant of grace, made by the eternal Three-One God of Israel, and ratified by the blood-shedding of Jesus, our glorious Mediator, as I shall not forget. The immutable faithfulness, and the inviolable oath of Jehovah, were the stability of my times. I used to peruse my Bible with more interest than ever; and Isaiah, the Canticles, and the Epistles of Paul were sweeter to me than a bundle of roses; and I said, “My meditation of him shall be sweet. I will be glad in the Lord;” and with the spouse, I said, “A bundle of myrrh is my Well-beloved unto me.”
I could much enlarge here, but must forbear, lest I should stumble the feeble lambs in Christ’s fold, who are dear to me. I had now a longing desire to spread the savour of the dear Redeemer’s name to my fellow sinners. But O, when I thought of the vast importance of the work of the ministry, I trembled in my very soul, and often viewed it as an act of the greatest presumption! A poor illiterate man as I was, to think of preaching the gospel! I used to tremble at the thought, and wished to get rid of it, but could not. I have cavilled and objected again and again; and as fast as I have objected, God has by his word knocked it all down. These words used to run in my mind: “I will make thee a fisher of men;” “Who made man’s mouth?” “Say not, I am a child;” “Thou shalt go unto all that I send thee.” No one knew at that time ray thoughts respecting the ministry.
One day when I went to see my dear relations, a few of God’s people met together for prayer and spiritual conversation in an old thatched house, and I gladly joined them, as there was no true gospel preached in the village. After some conversation, an old disciple in this humble village said to me, “I wish you would read a chapter; and, if anything strikes you, do tell us about it.” I did as she requested, and continued for more than half-an-hour. This was the first time I had ever attempted to speak in the name of the Lord; nor did I feel the least embarrassment in speaking, nor any condemnation in my conscience after I had spoken. From that time I concluded that the Lord was about to employ me in his vineyard; but I kept all these things to myself. The circumstance of my speaking to these few people was soon spread abroad; and I was requested, soon after this, to speak at the Old Tabernacle in Plymouth, which put me into great straits. Refuse I could not, and yet to attempt it was horrible to my feelings. For some days before I made the attempt, I felt a wish that I had not made the promise; and such was the darkness and perplexity of my mind that I could with the utmost difficulty attend to my labour; and as the hours passed away, I fancied I was something like the man in a dark cell, looking with horror towards the day of his execution.
Thus I was tormented up to the day appointed for me to preach. I had been often preaching to myself, and found plenty of matter flow, when alone in meditation; out now, from the darkness of my mind, the confusion of my thoughts, and the prevalence of my unbelieving fears, I felt that I should be confounded before the people; and it appeared nothing less than presumption to enter the pulpit. I said, “My pride has brought me into all this misery;” and I greatly feared that God would publicly expose me. The sign being given for me to mount the pulpit, I trembled from head to foot; and as I entered the pulpit it suddenly crossed my mind, “This is the pulpit that Whitefield has often preached in, as well as other able men; and can such a presumptuous fool as I dare to stand and attempt to preach after such great men?” This added to my confusion, while my knees smote each other as I sat in the pulpit. The hymn being sung, I felt as if I should have fainted. I rose as well as I could, and concealed my trembling from the people as well as I was able, hiding myself by the help of a large velvet cushion. When I began to pray, I found my trembling began to abate; and, finding liberty in calling upon the Lord, I began to take courage, and I pleaded his promises as one that really stood in need of his helping hand. Having finished my prayer, I sat down, and thanked the Lord that he had been better to me than my fears thus far; but while the hymn was singing, I was overwhelmed with fear again. It was suggested to me, “You have gone through your prayer because you have been in the habit of praying; but what will you do when you stand up to preach? Why, the people will laugh at your folly!” Thus was I buffeted till the hymn was sung; when I stood up trembling, with my eyes fixed on the Bible, and gave out for my text, Zech. 9:11: “As for thee also, by the blood of thy covenant, I have sent forth thy prisoners out of the pit wherein is no water.”
I had, by experience, known what the pit was, and what it was to be a prisoner in the pit, and how God delivered me, even by the precious blood of Christ, applied by the Holy Spirit to my sin-burdened soul. I knew also that the blood of Christ was the blood of sprinkling, and the blood of the everlasting covenant which was to be paid as the price of our redemption to divine justice. I had had many a blessed meditation and sweet feast from these great and precious truths; but now I wanted the door of utterance to be opened for me that I might set these things before the people, that their souls might be comforted, and that Christ might be exalted. As soon as I began to preach, I felt the sweetness of my text; my fears and trembling were in a great measure removed, and I was furnished with a full supply of appropriate scriptures to explain and illustrate my text; neither was I at all at a loss for words, and matter flowed faster than I could express it by words to the people, though I think I spoke faster than is commendable in a preacher; for rapid speaking prevents profitable hearing to many persons whose capacities are slow and dull. I spoke about three quarters of an hour, but dared not take my eyes from my Bible one moment, lest I should be thrown into confusion. When I had done, I felt like a man who had been relieved of a burden too much for his strength. The testimony of the leading man at the chapel, as well as several others who heard me at that time, was very encouraging; but of this I shall say no more. I went home rejoicing; but loathed myself in my own sight, that I should have listened to the devil, carnal reason, and unbelief, to the dishonour of God, who had so many times fulfilled his promises to me, and answered my prayers.
This news of my preaching was soon blazed abroad, and I was from that time frequently employed in Plymouth and in many villages round.
After I had once preached, and having been somewhat favoured, I thought the principal difficulty was got over; but, alas! I soon found I was much mistaken; for my trials had but just commenced, as respects the ministry.
Now a new scene of trial opened before me. Some of the brethren, I thought, disapproved of my preaching, and they used to throw stumbling-blocks in my way to hinder my proceeding. Their conduct to me, and the importance of the work of the ministry, greatly depressed my spirits; and I frequently thought I would give up all thoughts of preaching; nay, I have been pleased many times with the idea that I had for ever done with it. But my pleasure was soon at an end, for shortly after some text would press on my mind, and be opened to me in meditation, so that before I was aware, I was arranging my sermon; and then I used to recollect myself, and say, “Why, I have done with preaching; I have quite done with it; I will have no more of it; I am determined to be a hearer.” Thus, I used to try to extinguish the light. For a little time I used to get rid of it; and I thought it a delusion of Satan, that had got hold of my mind, and filled me with a vain conceit of preaching. The same day, perhaps, some letter or messenger would bring me word that I was wanted to preach at such a place, and that if I did not go the people would have no one to preach to them. I tried to make all the excuses I could; and if I was poorly, I magnified it in order to get off preaching. This I have done many times. Again, I used to beg a little time before I answered the application; and while reflecting on the matter, I have been so lashed with many scriptures, that I have been overwhelmed with trouble. I was charged home with rebellion against the light, and as not fit for the kingdom of God, having put my hand to the gospel plough, and now I had turned back. Then the promises I had made to the Lord, and the prayers I had offered up to him in respect to the ministry, used to come fresh to my mind. I laboured hard to get rid of all these things, and tell the Lord that I had no learning necessary for a preacher; that I had not a proper gift of speech; that I was in such a dark state in my soul, that if I attempted to preach again, I should be confounded before the people, and bring dishonour on his holy name, and disgrace to his cause.
Thus I used to cavil and dispute, till the Lord stopped me by such words as these: “Who made man’s mouth?” “I will give you a mouth and wisdom;” “Lo! I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.” These words used to be both reproving and comforting; and I said, “I will go and preach this once, and if these promises come from God I shall know by his affording me help in preaching; and by his helping me, I shall conclude that he does design me for the work of the ministry.” Thus, I set my hand to the plough again, and I received most sensible help from the Lord several times, which so filled me with self-loathing, on account of my base past conduct, that I could not lay myself low enough at the feet of my gracious Redeemer. His mercy, grace, and long-suffering quite overcame me. I was now raised to a comfortable persuasion that the Lord’s hand was in my preaching, and that I still should see his hand more plainly.
Thus encouraged by some sweet manifestations of Christ, I went forth again boldly when called upon, and made sure that the Lord would be with me. In this, however, I had made a mistake; for I did not see what a vast heap of pride had sprung up in my depraved heart, taking the advantage of God’s indulgences to me. Hence, when I attempted to preach again, all my meditations were snatched from me, and such horrible darkness came over my mind, and such trembling of body, that my speech seemed to me quite altered in sound; and in this bondage and misery I have gone on for three quarters of an hour preaching, and when I had done, my sermon appeared to me a complete jumble of confusion. When I have retired, Satan has assaulted me most grievously, not that I then suspected it to come from him; but I concluded that my embarrassment was a certain sign that I had presumptuously run into the ministry without being called of God; and I begged the Lord to take all thoughts of preaching out of my mind that I might not offend him again by assuming that sacred office. Perhaps, not a week after that, I should have more matter flow into my mind than before, and get rid of it I could not, but was like a bottle that wanted vent. Applications were also made from different quarters for me to preach. Thus I continued, sometimes encouraged, and at other times so overwhelmed with fear, bondage, and temptation that I wished I had never thought about the ministry. Some of the Lord’s people used to express great satisfaction in hearing me, even when I was in such embarrassment myself, which used to provoke me to wrath; and I concluded, that either the devil had deceived them as well as me, or that God had used me as a messenger to carry a morsel to them, as the unclean raven was employed to carry food to the prophet.
There were several young men who had commenced preaching at that time, with whom I was acquainted. I gave several of them some hints about the trials of my mind; but they appeared quite strangers to my path. They would tell me of their great liberty in preaching; of the way they had handled their text; how much they had been blessed to this, that, and the other, and seemed highly pleased with their performances. Alas! I thought I was a singular mortal, very different from any one that I had met with. They appeared always ready, and were anxious to preach; I was generally backward and fearful. They found no fault with themselves or their preaching, and I was doing very little else.
About the close of the year 1801, I visited Kingsbridge, to see some of my relations; and by their influence I was invited to preach at the chapel in Lady Huntingdon’s connexion, and I found no reluctance on my part; for I had been somewhat favoured in my meditations as I walked thither. At the time appointed, I went to preach to a much larger congregation than I had been accustomed to preach to, yet my great natural timidity was removed, and I found much freedom of speech, and I think I felt much pleasure in my own soul in showing to my hearers how we stood righteous before God, and the blessed safety of those who were accepted in the Beloved. Many of the people expressed much satisfaction; and I was, by the leading men of the chapel, pressed to preach again; and in the warmth of the moment, I consented. Thus far, all went on well; but losing by degrees my enjoyments, I fell into a reasoning spirit; and under a strong temptation, I said to myself, “I have been carried through my last exercise much to my own satisfaction, and to the people’s; but what shall I do for matter the next time? I have said all that I can say.” I laboured and toiled in my mind, sometimes at old texts, and at other times at new texts, to see if I could pick up anything; but the more I toiled the greater was my embarrassment and confusion, so that I knew not what to do. I had made a promise, and, therefore, it was too late to say Nay. In this state I was tossed about like a vessel in a high sea, until I was happily relieved by a sudden thought. It was this, “I have heard Mr. Jones preach from this text, ‘With loving-kindness have I drawn thee;’ why, I had better preach as much as I can recollect of his sermon. It is sound truth, and much better than I can produce.” I found, it is true, a questioning in my mind whether it was right for me to preach Mr. Jones’s sermon; but I soon silenced the clamour in my conscience by saying, “What am I to do? I have nothing of my own. And if I attempt to take a text, and preach from it of my own devising, I shall be put to confusion; and what will the people think and say of me? Will it not be much better for me to preach a good sermon, though another man’s, than darken counsel by words without knowledge?” Thus I settled the business; and to call into action all the powers of my memory. I had good ground to hope for success, because I had heard Mr. Jones preach the above sermon, first, in London; second, at Bristol, and third, at Devouport; so that I suppose it was an old favourite of the preacher’s; and my memory, as well as Mr. Jones’s, being pretty strong, I recollected that he delivered the whole of his four heads with about sixteen sub- divisions, nearly word for word every time, which I thought much to my advantage. Thus furnished, (and well, too, I thought, for if the sermon would do for London, Bristol, and Devonport, surely it will do for Kingsbridge!) I mounted the pulpit at the given time. If I recollect right, I was rather confused in my prayer. I had been in the habit, from the commencement of my preaching, to entreat the Lord to assist me, both as to matter and manner; but having a sermon already made, as I thought, I could not honestly beg for God’s assistance; neither could I beg of the Lord to assist my memory; for that would have discovered me to the people at once. I therefore got through my prayer as well as I could, and, perhaps, the hearers saw nothing amiss. After the people had sung, I gave out my text with a tolerable emphasis, and proceeded, after a short introduction, to divide my text in the same order as laid down by the aforesaid Mr. Jones. You will observe, reader, that I had four heads, and about sixteen divisions to get through. The number of hearers happened to far exceed the former time of my preaching, and several classical men, I understood, were to be present, as well as the regular minister, who had been polished at Cheshunt Academy; so that I had quite work enough before me. Well, with all these difficulties before my eyes, I set to work as well as I could. But, alas, for me! I had not spoken long before the most dreadful guilt, hypocrisy, pride, and confusion possessed my mind. Mr. Jones’s sermon was completely taken from my memory, and though I used every artifice to recover, at least some part of it, I could not; and after labouring like a thresher, for I should suppose not more than 1-5 minutes, quite exhausted, I sat down in confusion, not knowing where to hide my head. After the conclusion, several persons came round me to encourage me not to be dispirited on account of my embarrassment, and they expressed much sympathy for me, seeing that I was but a stripling, and young in the ministry; but I was sensible I deserved no pity. I, however, concealed the cause of my embarrassment, and acknowledged my error before God in secret. I was ashamed of my unbelief, that I could not depend upon the Lord, as he had been my help. I was condemned for my pride in attempting to raise myself high by another man’s stilts. This mortification of my pride taught me a lesson that I have not forgotten yet. I said to myself, ”I will never attempt to preach Jones’s sermon, nor any other man’s, any more as long as I live!” I am persuaded, that if sermon-stealers were served as I was on this occasion, they would be of my opinion. Blessed be God, who overrules the errors of his servants for their good, and for his own glory! I have mentioned this circumstance, and designed it as a caution to young preachers, never to wish to appear in things already made to their hands, lest they should be beaten with many stripes, as I was. I fear that the fleshly scheme I tried to carry into execution is too much practised by many, who shine in other men’s robes, who have the knack of altering a little of a sermon here and there to escape detection. The voice may resemble Jacob’s, but the hands are Esau’s.
PHOTO Henry Fowler—Gospel Standard 1864, Page 133, 165, 197, 230, 161,
Looking back at 1801, I remember that it was a chequered scene all through. On the one hand, I experienced many tokens for good, many mercies and discoveries of the Redeemer’s love, both in public and in private; and on the other hand, I had many sad proofs how low I was sunk by the fall; how deceitful and desperately wicked my heart was! I have often feared that I should be left to carry into practice the evils that were constantly boiling up in my heart, in spite of all my prayers and cries to God to keep me by his power. I had some temptations also very near me, and well calculated to suit the corrupt flesh of most men. What snares I refer to, my reader will find in Ecclesiastes 7:26; from which, through God’s mercy, I escaped but very narrowly, and not without defiling the conscience, and producing much confusion in my mind. I expected by this time to find my constitutional sins more brought into subjection, and supposed by the reign of grace I should feel less and less of the motions of sin; but in this I was deceived, for I found a constant warfare, and could not tell for some time what judgment to make of it. The most filthy and abominable thoughts used suddenly to spring up in my mind; and very commonly just after I had been much favoured with the Lord’s sensible presence, which used to puzzle me exceedingly, and fill me with sorrow. At other times I seemed as if I took a real pleasure in indulging the flesh, which used to meet with frequent checks from the word of God, and fill me with dismay. Now I am inclined to think this was partly the work of Satan; for I often had this suggested to me: “How is it possible that you can prove yourself a child of God? You are nothing but a mass of un-holiness and sin, and you have no desire to be otherwise. And really it appeared all true that was suggested to me at times. In the beginning of my preaching, I used to search the Scriptures in order to comfort others; but now, from the painful exercises of my mind, I was obliged to search the word for light upon my intricate path; and instead of choosing texts to preach from for the people, I was obliged to preach from such texts as suited myself, according as I had received a little help from them; for, indeed, the Lord did often comfort and encourage me by many scriptures in this my day of trial. But I was soon robbed of all, and my old temptations returned again, which I thought prevented my preaching from being of any use to the people; on which ground I sometimes concluded I must cease preaching altogether.
I now see what I saw not then, that the Lord was leading me in paths which I knew not, and preparing me, by fiery trials, both to understand his word and to preach with profit to the tried and tempted, which no man can do unless he has been tried himself. Besides these temptations, I had many others, and strong oppositions raised in my mind against some of the leading doctrines of truth; so that I was obliged with prayer to try every doctrine I believed and preached by the word of God, which much established me in the truth of the doctrines, and in a firm persuasion that I had been rightly taught them.
It was about this time that I became more intimately acquainted with Dr. Hawker, who very cordially received me, and he was truly like a father and a friend to me. During 1801 and 1802, I used to have frequent interviews with Dr. Hawker, and received much instruction from him; for he was always ready, and would most cheerfully communicate any information I wanted, either of a literary or spiritual nature. After many conversations with him, he encouraged me to go forth in the ministry, and used every means to promote my success in the work. Many of the Dissenters at that time wanted the Doctor to leave the Establishment; yea, they found great fault with him because of what they called bigotry! but indeed, I have seen more bigotry in those men than ever I saw in the Doctor. He was a lover of all good men; differ as they might with him, or with each other, as to church discipline. He was above a little, narrow, sectarian spirit, and hundreds can testify the truth of what I say of him. His whole mind was occupied how he could do any good, either to the souls or bodies of men. Such men are very seldom to be met with; yet this blessed servant of Christ was continually harassed, not so much by the profane, as by the professing world! He was branded as an antinomian in all quarters of the kingdom, though his life was the most free from blots of any preacher I have known. Blessed servant of God! Thou art now out of the reach of the malignant tongue, and thy joy is full.
My readers will pardon this digression. I could not refrain from showing my regard to the memory of him whose name is dear to me, and to thousands in this kingdom, for Christ’s sake.
During this year, 1802, as well as the former, I passed through many changes, sometimes joyous frames, and at other times grievous frames of soul; and I often said with Job, “Changes and war are against me.”
I remember about this time I was favoured one day with some blessed discoveries of Christ by faith, so that my heart was with the Lord all day, and his fruit was sweet to my taste. There was to be a prayer-meeting the same evening at Dr. Hawker’s school-room, and the Doctor and a number of his friends used to meet on those occasions. Having been so happy all the day, I attended the meeting with high expectations, hoping that I should be called upon to engage in prayer; and so it fell out to my great mortification. After giving out the hymn I began to pray; but in one moment I was covered with a cloud of darkness, which threw me into such confusion of mind that I could recollect nothing that had been on my mind during the day; and my embarrassment was such that I could hardly express the few unconnected petitions I put up, so that in two or three minutes I gave up in the greatest perplexity. Service being over, I went away as fast as possible, for I was ashamed to look any of the brethren in the face. Most of the people knew that I had been some time preaching, here and there, and some of them had expressed a bad opinion of my preaching. I was, therefore, terribly cut up on that account; for I judged they would now have just reason to conclude that the Lord never designed me to preach, seeing I was not able to pray before the people. I never entered that school-room on a prayer-meeting night afterwards, I believe, fearing I might be called upon to engage in prayer. Thus, my pride had brought me low with a witness. Satan, also, took the advantage of my mortification, and suggested that my happiness during the day never could have come from God; if it had, I could not have been so suddenly hurled into this dismal place, so as to forget everything. Indeed, it appeared clear to me this was true, and sharp work I had of it, together with much fretfuhless and rebellion against the Lord, that he should leave me thus to make a fool of myself, and thereby dishonour him.
Thus, my foolish heart for some time fretted against the Lord, but not without many rebukes from the word of God. After my spirit got a little calm, I began to consider soberly what the Lord might intend by this dispensation; and I perceived that the Lord’s hand was in it, to humble my proud heart, and that I had been seeking my own gratification before his honour. I saw plainly how foolishly I had acted in indulging such thoughts as these, in my day of prosperity; for I thought that when I opened my mouth in prayer, the people would be astonished at the Lord’s goodness to me; and this would remove their hard thoughts of me, and beget such a union between us that, instead of their looking cool and being distant in their carriage, they would covet my company more frequently! “A man’s pride will bring him low.” I think I learned more by this trial, painful as it was, than I should have learnt if the Lord had given me the desire of my heart.
From this time I began to be more cautious, having stumbled through my folly; and if the Lord favoured me to rejoice, it used to be with a measure of trembling. Yet I could not keep down pride, if the Lord granted me liberty in preaching, or if he appeared to bless the word to any one; and the appearance of this pride made me abhor myself, because I saw it was robbing God of the glory justly due unto his name. Besides, I trembled at his rod, for I knew the fool’s back called for many stripes.
During the former two years I met with very few of the saints who seemed to be tried as I was; for some used to say, if I spoke to them about darkness of soul, indwelling sin, or Satan’s temptations, “You must look to Christ. You must not look at yourself, nor at indwelling sin, nor temptations. What have you to do with these things?” But, alas! I found these things had much to do with me, so that I could not so readily take their advice, which no doubt was meant well; but they were physicians of no value to me. I do not lay any stress on my trials, nor judge another because he has not been led in my path; for I believe many are not, nor do I wish them to be. I would not lay a stumbling-block in the path of any of the Redeemer’s tender lambs, for that is contrary to the instruction I have received from his blessed word, and contrary to the principle of love which should ever be exercised by the servants of Jesus towards the weakest believer. But if the Lord has a work for a man to do, he will fit that man for his work by manifold temptations; and it is by these things a man lives, out of love with himself, and in love with Christ.
But I often wrote bitter things against myself, that I was kept so much in the back ground, and all for want of better judgment. I was a dull scholar, and am still.
About the close of 1802, it struck me that I would leave Plymouth, and settle in London; and that for three reasons. First, my labour began to fall off; and to be destitute of sufficient labour is distressing to an honest, poor man. Secondly, I had, as far as I could see, very little success in preaching, after labouring some time in different places occasionally. Thirdly, I perceived a vast deal of frivolity in many who ranked high among the people with whom I was acquainted. They had gospel heads, but not broken hearts. They sat in the judgment-chair on many much better taught than themselves. These things made their conversation and company irksome to me, and I wished to leave them altogether. I also thought that if I went to London there might be a better prospect both for my business and to preach the gospel, if the Lord had designed me for the work; for this was still a question with me, except when the Lord comforted my heart in delivering his truth.
When I had pondered these things over, a thought for the first time struck me that I should like, if it were the Lord’s will, to alter my condition before I left Plymouth, that I might have a home, and a friend, to share our joys and sorrows together. I had serious thoughts on the subject, and well considered the matter; which, I fear, is not always done even by God’s people.
The words, “In all thy ways acknowledge him,” at this time especially, as well as on many former occasions, were much impressed on my mind; for if a believer be not guided by the Lord, he will make a wrong choice, and that to his sorrow. The desired object was cast in my way without my seeking; and March 14th, 1803, I entered the honourable state of marriage, with an intention to go forthwith to London; but “man’s goings are of the Lord. How, then, can he understand his way?” With a wife the Lord sent me plenty of labour week after week, so that I could not leave without resisting the dictates of conscience, and the manifest inter-position of providence. I still, month after month, entertained some hope that my way would be made clear to go to London; but all in vain at that time. Some circumstance or other continually thwarted my intentions, so that I came to a conclusion that it was the will of God for me to remain at Plymouth.
My mind thus settled in regard to the leadings of Divine providence, I looked more to the thing in hand, and pursued my labour with better spirits; and the Lord prospered our labours so as to enable us to “provide things honest in the sight of all men.” But these temporal blessings, which are from the Lord, were followed on my part with too much anxious thought about the things of this world, which perish with the using; and by degrees I grew lukewarm, or rather cold in the things of God. I had now a wife to provide for, and a family in prospect, and little or nothing of this world’s goods. As I thought it was the Lord’s will for me to abide in and live by my labour at my civil calling, I became indifferent about preaching, and thought if the Lord had designed me for the ministry he would have made it appear before that time. Besides, I thought that if I attempted to attend to preaching, I should be neglecting my lawful calling, which would bring me into reproach, as well as the cause of God. And further, I thought I was justified in abandoning all thoughts of the ministry, because I felt no heart for it, neither had I been favoured in reading and meditation as heretofore. Thus I came to a conclusion that I would never attempt to preach again, and was much pleased with the idea that I had got rid of a burden that so sorely tried me. I now pleased myself with the thought of being a hearer, and anticipated much pleasure in hearing Dr. Hawker and others who might fall in my way.
Now all appeared right. I was going to have comfortable Lord’s days; hear the word with my wife and talk over the things of God at home; have spiritual refreshment and rest for the body after the fatigues of the week, and be quite ready for the toils of the next week. This was my golden dream; but it was painted in water colour, and it soon washed out. I attended chiefly on Dr. Hawker’s ministry at this time, whose word had been much blessed to me in former times, as I have stated; but, alas! I could seldom hear him now with any sort of pleasure. He appeared to me to be a different preacher to what he had been. He dwelt much upon the great and precious doctrines of the gospel, as the doctrines of the Trinity, the Person of Christ as Mediator, his complete atonement for the sins of the elect, the saints’ glorious union with Christ and their completeness in him, the Head; all which I approved of, for I had tasted their sweetness; but his ministry was not adapted for me at this time; neither do I think that his ministry, generally, was calculated for those whom the Lord sees fit to try as by fire.
After I had heard the word, I sometimes met in the churchyard with many I knew, and they used to be delighted with what they had heard. Many of those persons, I have not the shadow of a doubt, felt the power of God under the Doctor’s ministry. Some, I then feared, were rejoicing in his light; for their general conduct was not becoming the gospel; and my fears were confirmed subsequently. The Doctor sowed good seed, and the enemy sowed tares. I was at length so provoked and tried with my barren hearing, and the people’s general rejoicing, that I determined to stop and speak to no one, if I could avoid it. Sometimes I used to get so angry with the preacher that I felt as if I must leave the place. Then again I used to think if God had sent me to preach, I could preach better than he; and after that I used to be reproved for my pride and presumption. Thus my golden dream all vanished; and in this state of silence, rebellion, and misery, I continued the best part of one year.
During this period, many thoughts I had respecting my having preached, and many fears arose in my mind that I had acted presumptuously in so doing, which led me to examine the word of God, and my own heart, as to my motives; but I could appeal to God that all that I had in view was his glory and the good of sinners; not to live an idle life, nor for the sake of filthy lucre. I could not fix guilt on my conscience for having preached; for I concluded that if it is a moral duty for every man to do good unto his neighbour, it was the duty of every saved sinner to speak to his brother of the tidings which God had taught him by his blessed Spirit; and if it was right to speak of Christ and his precious name to one, it was to twenty, when urged by his brethren, according to the ability that God giveth. I am still of the same mind on that subject; but let every brother in Christ wait till he is called upon. “A man’s gift maketh room for him.”
I was now in a great strait, for I was cut off from preaching, and had no pleasure in hearing, neither did I enjoy that anticipated pleasure in solitude at home which I dreamed of. I felt now in a worse condition than ever; and in this state my heart often fretted against the Lord. But no one knew the sore trials of my mind. I had learned that it was a vain thing to fly to creatures for help.
One Lord’s day, as I came out of church, a man, who had been a preacher with myself in the villages, but who had now declined preaching, came up to me, and seemed highly pleased to see me. After a few words had passed, he said, “So you have given up preaching, as well as myself, I understand!” At his remark, I paused, while I felt the fire burning within my bones; and as soon as I could adjust my thoughts, I said, “No, my friend. I am laid up just to refit, but I shall preach again yet, and as long as I have a tongue capable of speaking.” He appeared astounded, and left me. After I had replied to him, I began to think what could induce me to speak so positively to the man; but I could not account for it. It was the impulse of the moment; but I was determined to watch the result.
During the week my mind was more comfortable, and I was more fruitful in meditation; and before the next Lord’s day, I received a pressing invitation to preach, which I could not refuse. Thus, God’s hand appeared to me in a most conspicuous way. I had God’s approbation in preaching; nor have I been in silence from that day when called upon to preach, if I had health.
Now the snare was broken, and I had two things to attend to; that is, minding my business and preaching the gospel. This appeared to be what the Lord had designed me to pursue; nor did I think of leaving my calling at this time.
During the time of my silence before spoken of, I made arrangements to establish myself in business; but was more than once crossed in my purposes, which made my heart very rebellious. I rose early, and sat up late, and ate the bread of carefulness; but after all it was with difficulty that I could pay my way; and my unbelief has often said that I should die in debt, and that my family would be left a burden upon others. These fits of unbelief used generally to come on me after I had been preaching in the villages on a Lord’s day; and there appeared a show of reason in my fears, because I seldom had anything for preaching. If I received my coach-hire and victuals, that was the most I received; and in many cases I have paid my own expenses, and travelled on foot many miles on a Lord’s day, preaching twice or three times; so that on the Monday I have not been able to labour at my business.
In this way I went on for several years. Sometimes I was so tried in my business, and had such darkness of soul and sore temptations from Satan, that I thought I should be deprived of my reason. What with labouring all the week at a sedentary business, early and late, the buffetings of Satan, my unbelieving fears, and carnal reasonings, my bodily frame was much shaken, and my nerves much more so. But in the midst of all these things, I embraced every opportunity for meditation and reading. After the business of the day, I have devoted two or three hours in trying to learn the Greek language, in order to be able to read the New Testament in its original tongue; after which, I intended to study the Hebrew also, and indeed I began it. The Latin, also, I was obliged to attend to, as most of my books had the original words explained in that language. But never having received an education in my youth, and now having no tutor, and a business to attend to, I found my progress was very slow in the knowledge of the dead languages. Indeed, it required more time than I could spare for the object mentioned. It required, I conceived, more than a common capacity to learn so many things together, and under such circumstances as I was in. It was not from an idea that I should ever excel as a scholar; nor did I suppose that there was any defect, essentially, in our translation; nor did I act from a principle of pride, in order to shine before men; nor was it that I thought the mind of the Holy Spirit could not be known without the knowledge of the original languages, that induced me to try to learn them. But it struck me that our translators were fallible men, and that our language had been very much altered since our last translation; that by comparing the different parts of our translation with the original, some light might be cast upon the word. Nor do I once regret the attempt I made, for I found the benefit of it in several ways. It brought me more into the habit of close thinking; it made me more familiar with the Scriptures; and many times I have had some sweet enjoyment in comparing our version with the Greek. That language I liked best; the very sound of the alphabet was to my ear like a fine tune skilfully played on that noble instrument the organ.
I differ from many good and well-meaning men, I know, on this subject; but I wish not to offend them, for every man has his proper gift from God. As for those good men who know the originals, but carelessly lay them aside, I do not think they display much wisdom, either human or divine. If I were familiar with the originals, I would read them in common with our version. Nor do I once suppose that any servant of God would lose one grain of his spirituality by so doing. This was the practice of Goodwin, Owen, Toplady, Romaine, Gill, and others, to whom we, in this our forlorn age, are no more to be compared than the rushlight taper to the blazing torch.
[In this point we fully agree with Mr. Fowler. Indeed, in our last interview with him, he said to us: “Do not lay aside your Greek Testament.” Here he showed much more wisdom than some uneducated men, who would seem almost to consider that the less they know of languages, &c., the better; and that the smaller share they have of human knowledge and wisdom, the more they necessarily must have of divine. He speaks also with much good sense and modesty of his own attainments, and puts the matter in its right place. To obtain any critical knowledge of the learned languages, they must be learnt in early boyhood, and studied for years with unremitting attention; but to know enough of Greek to be able to compare one passage with another, to ascertain the various senses in which the same word is used, and examine lexicons, may be obtained by most men who have good abilities, and will give two or three hours’ study every day to the Greek Testament. Nor is a knowledge of Latin now necessary for this, as in Mr. Fowler’s day, for of late years grammars and lexicons have been published in Greek and English. ED.]PHOTO Henry Fowler—Gospel Standard 1864, Page 165, 197, 230, 161,
My path became every year more trying, both within and without, and I was determined not to leave my business if possible. All that I wished the Lord to grant me, was a sufficiency of business and power to preach the gospel free of all charge. Neither could I persuade myself that there was any body of people that would ever receive me as a minister, because of my peculiarities; or, if they did receive me, they would not support me long; therefore I was determined to be independent of every body of people. Such were my thoughts.
Many propositions had been made to me about the propriety of my being engaged wholly in the ministry, but all in vain; for I said, “I will use no carnal means to promote such a thing.” I said, “If the Lord intends it, he knows of a place, and can open the door; but I will have no hand in it.” I never solicited a pulpit; nor ever wrote to another minister to recommend me to a place; nor ever advertised for a situation in my life. I looked upon such things as belonging to the flesh, as human policy, as carnal craft, and not likely to end well; and I am still of the same opinion. My desire was to watch the cloud, and follow the leadings of God’s providence. I had sometimes a full persuasion that the Lord would employ me wholly in his vineyard; but this seldom lasted long, but was all upset by the deep sense I had of my very great deficiency for such a work; and then it appeared to me nothing less than presumption for such an ignorant mortal to harbour a thought of the kind.
About this time, I was chiefly employed in preaching in Devonport and Ivybridge; on Lord’s day at Ivybridge, every fortnight, in a commodious room; and only occasionally at Devonport, when the stated minister was ill, or on a journey; and I think my testimony was better understood and more cordially received in this place than in any other I preached in in that quarter, at the time alluded to. At Ivybridge, I continued preaching about two years, but I saw very little good done; and I think, out of about sixty or eighty hearers, I could not, in a judgment of Christian charity, reckon up more than six or seven persons who were brought out of their natural state of darkness. The tree is known by its fruit. According to my feelings, I would sooner preach to twenty of the called in Christ Jesus, than to one hundred persons in nature’s darkness; but a preacher’s feelings must not be his guide, but the word of God. He must preach and sow the seed of the kingdom beside all waters: “He that observeth the wind shall not sow; and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap.”
I considered it my duty to preach the word of truth to this people, and leave the event with the Lord. Perhaps my testimony was received with power by two or three only; but I know not. Some seed lies a long time in the ground before it springs up; and I believe the Lord often wisely conceals from the man whose ministry has been blessed to sinners the knowledge of it, lest his proud heart should be uplifted.
From some circumstances, I used to hope that my labour was not in vain; for I had often much freedom in prayer for those people; and felt as if I could endure anything if the Lord would use me as an instrument to open their poor blind eyes. I really longed for their salvation; and with great boldness and pleasure did I preach Christ, and his full, free, and finished salvation to them.
Having to labour the whole week previous to my preaching, and sometimes very hard up to a late hour on the Saturday night, I was often so worn out in body that I was more fit to go to bed than go eleven miles to preach on the Lord’s day morning. One day, after a hard week, I set off early in the morning on foot, to preach three times that day. When I had walked about half the distance, I felt much fatigued and dispirited. Some fits of unbelief and clouds of darkness came over me, so that I thought I would go no farther, but return. I sat on a bank for rest and reflection; and said to myself, “To what purpose do I thus toil and wear out body and mind? Neither temporal nor spiritual good comes of it. I am neglecting my family, and that is to do them great injury.” Thus I reasoned and murmured. I think I had on this occasion something like the feelings of Elijah under the juniper tree, when he said, “Lord, it is enough. Take away my life from me, for I am no better than my fathers.” How long I sat on the bank lost in thought I cannot now recollect, but at the time I well remember these words arrested my attention: “Death worketh in us, but life in you.” I considered the words as coming to me from God to give me instruction, and to stir me, half dead as I seemed to be, to pursue my journey, and preach the gospel, that life might thereby be manifested to poor sinners. With this impression, new strength seemed to be given me, both in body and mind; and I arose and pursued my journey courageously. When I arrived at our meeting-house the hymn was sung, and one of the friends had engaged in prayer, through my delay. I therefore gave out for my text these words: “It is good for me to draw nigh unto God;” and I enjoyed, while preaching, light, life, liberty, and peace. The dose of bitters I received on the road made the sweet all the sweeter.
At another time, as I was going to this village to preach, I was so assaulted by distrust and unbelief, and, perhaps, by Satan too, that I said, “If I go on this way, wearing myself out, my family will come to beggary; and who will thank me then for all my labour? Will not people say I had no business to run about preaching, to the injury of my health, and to the ruin of my family?” Just as these things crossed my mind, those words of Christ were, I thought, spoken as powerfully to my heart as they were in the hearing of the disciples: “When I sent you without purse, and scrip, and shoes, lacked ye anything? And they said, Nothing.” I blushed at my carnal reasoning and unbelief, and kept on repeating as I went, “Lord, I have wanted for nothing, I have wanted for nothing since I have laboured in thy service.” “A word spoken in due season, how good it is.”
About the year 1812, I left off preaching at Ivybridge; the cause of which was this. There was a preacher who used to preach in turn with me in the above place. He was high in doctrine, and on the doctrines he chiefly dwelt. The Arminians also had a place in the same village, and they used to have the largest number of hearers; and no wonder, as their doctrines are so congenial with every natural man’s ideas. My fellow-preacher, seeing the Arminians so prosperous, proposed to my honest friend, Mr. F., to meet the Arminians half way, that we might increase our congregation, and be more prosperous also. Mr. F. was indignant at such a proposal, and told my fellow-preacher that he would sooner close our meeting-house than say a confederacy with the Arminians; and gave the preacher to understand that his services could be dispensed with. The next Lord’s day, or shortly after, the said high Calvinistic preacher went over to the Arminians, and preached for them; for he was determined to be more prosperous, though at the expense of truth. When I came to the village at my usual time, lo! my congregation was gone after the said preacher to the Arminians, and I had the mortification of preaching to less than a dozen hearers. I took for my text these words: “Who hath believed our report, and to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?” Our place was then closed, and I believe remained so for some years. This affair exercised me not a little, and many questions arose in my mind whether I had any business there at the first. I thought if the people had truly believed my report, (and I knew it was a good report,) they would not have joined the Arminians. “Many are called, but few chosen.”
Soon after this event, other doors were opened to me to preach, until August, 1813. In the early part of the year I was requested to fill the place of a minister at Devonport for a few weeks, during his absence, to which I agreed. I had many times preached in the same place, during four or five years previously. After the stated minister had set off for his journey, one or two Lord’s days were to be filled up by a minister from Somersetshire; and after he left, the labour fell upon me, until the stated minister returned. The minister above alluded to, was very ready, and very bold; possessing a strong memory also, he could quote whole pages of striking poetry. He was much followed, and admired by many; and the people were very sorry when he was obliged to leave; and so was I, not from attachment to him, but for my own sake.
This minister having left, I looked forward towards the next Lord’s day with all the trembling of a malefactor. I had some heavy outward trials at this time, and many buffetings by Satan, as well as much darkness of soul, and a deal of bondage in my spirit. As the Lord’s day drew nearer, I seemed to get more dark and distressed, more perplexed and restless. Thus it continued with me until Lord’s day morning, when the cloud was dispersed, my chains were knocked off, and the prison doors were thrown wide open.
I shall never forget this time of mercy; for I cried unto the Lord in trouble, and he delivered me out of my distresses; yea, he set me in a large place, such a place as I was never in before in preaching the gospel. The fear of man was all taken from me, and I spoke with such a boldness as that people had never witnessed in me before. They were surprised, and so was I also. There appeared a very different feeling in the people towards me to what there had been before, and many blessed God for his mercy to me; and I believe they felt a sweet union of soul to me, and I to them. I have observed that I had preached in this place many times before this; but sometimes I was very much embarrassed. Ou one occasion, I well remember I could not continue more than fifteen minutes, and that with hard labour, and down I sat in confusion. One man came to me, as I left the pulpit at the time alluded to last, and said to me, “Your head has been in a bag this afternoon.” “Yes,” I said, “and I wish it had been in a ditch sooner than here.” O how mortifying this is to a proud man! and O how I kicked and rebelled! But now the scene was changed, for I was like a hind let loose; and the Lord favoured me much up to the time of the stated minister’s return. But I little thought that this mercy was to be followed by some heavy trials; yet so it fell out. After fine weather, look out, fellow- traveller, for foul. This trial that I refer to arose from my friends and from the stated minister; for as soon as he returned, some of the people said to him, (though very imprudently,) “We were not anxious about your return; for we have been well supplied. We have heard to our great satisfaction;” and a variety of things I believe they said to him calculated to do mischief. The said minister was naturally warm and hasty; and no doubt Satan, who is ever busy, had a hand in it. This fired the old man, and produced some angry feelings in the said minister against me, which he could not conceal, but vented it in the pulpit on several occasions, to wound the people who had expressed so much satisfaction in hearing me. The good, but mistaken man, preached the best part of a sermon to prove that I was not sent of God to preach, and the ground of his argument was this; that if God had sent me to preach, he would have found me a church before this time. Some were pleased with his conclusion, and others quite the reverse.
These contentions about me deeply wounded my feelings; for I could say with an honest conscience, I never went to preach to his people for lucre, nor to wean the affections of the people from their stated minister. Such a procedure is most contemptible; and how can any preacher expect the approbation of the Lord who takes such a fleshly course? However, the fault lay as much with my warm-hearted friends as with the minister. I learned then, and have learned my lesson over and over again since, that a preacher may suffer in his feelings, and even in his reputation, quite as much from the weakness of his warm-hearted friends as he may from his avowed enemies. But these are some of the afflictions of the gospel that Paul speaks of to Timothy. [Excellent remarks, and well worth observation by minister and people, ED.]
I do not mention these things by way of angry reflection on the minister, who, I believe, is now in glory; nor do I reflect on my friends, many of whom are in glory also; but in all things we are instructed; and the hints that I have dropped may be useful to some, when I am no more in this world. To “cease from man,” is a hard lesson to learn.
For some months previous to this time of trial, the providence of God appeared all against me; for by deaths, failures, and removals, my sources seemed nearly dried up, so that I was losing money every week for several months; and I had now four young children, over whom I have shed many a tear, and for whom I have put up many a prayer to my covenant God and Father; for they lay near my heart.
I was now shut up every way, and hemmed in on every side. This is the time, reader, for prayer, and for a man to prove God’s faithfulness to his promise. But flesh and blood do not like this rugged road. My health was delicate at this time, and my nerves greatly shaken with outward and inward trials. Having very little business, I thought I would go over to Bristol a week or two, to visit two of my very dear friends in the Lord, to whom I felt a close union, in order to relieve both body and mind; and, after committing myself and family into the hands of my God by prayer and supplication, though in much weakness and with many fears, I made up my mind to go. My object was, not to preach unless a door was fairly thrown open to me. I made arrangements accordingly; and as I was passing through the market-place at Plymouth, I fell in with a man with whom I had had some slight acquaintance, and talked with him some time on the subject of religion chiefly. I said, “I shall not see you again for some time, as I am going to Bristol in a few days.” “Indeed,” he said, “will you take a letter for me to Bristol?” I said, “Yes, certainly.” He said, “Will you not preach there?” I said, “I cannot say anything about preaching.” “Will you go to Manchester?” said this man. “How far is it?” I said. He said, “Three hundred miles!” I said, “No; that is out of the question.” “Well, then,” he said. “I will write a line to Mr. Robins, of Bristol, and I am sure he will let you preach for him there.” I said, “I am not anxious about preaching, but I will take a line to Mr. Robins.”
This man also asked me if I would visit Birmingham, provided I should be requested; and I consented. He therefore wrote to the people at Birmingham to send to me at Bristol. When I arrived at Bristol, I delivered the letter for Mr. Robins, and received for answer, that Mr. Robins was then in London. Mr. Robins’s friend opened the letter, and read it; and observed to me he could say nothing about my preaching in their chapel, as they had had two or three preachers since Mr. Robins went to London, but did not approve of one of them, and therefore they had dismissed them. I said, “My object here is not to preach, but to see two friends; certainly I would preach if a door were fairly opened; but by no means would I obtrude.” We entered into spiritual conversation; and when I was going, he said, “Suppose you come and preach on Lord’s day morning. I should like to hear you once.” I agreed to his proposal, and went and breakfasted with him on the Lord’s day morning. I read and engaged in prayer in the family; and the blessed Lord poured upon me the spirit of grace and supplication in a most remarkable manner. I was humbled in the dust, and could say with my whole soul, “Thy will be done.”
I could now leave the Lord to make darkness light, and crooked things straight. I had often tried to do these things in my own strength, but could not. I was now contented with my lot, and made willing to follow the Lord wherever he might go, and not attempt to go before him, nor dictate to him. I now found the truth of this promise in my heart, “In quietness and in confidence shall be your strength.” The great stumbling-block was now removed. I had tried to remove it, but in vain; and I had often prayed the Lord to bring my will into entire submission to his; for I often, in my trials in providence, discovered a selfish spirit working in me that was nothing less than rebellion against God. Nothing humbles, nothing teaches like grace.
When I had finished prayer, as above, I looked at the old people present, and I thought that they partook of my enjoyments. They seemed too full to speak for several minutes; and I saw tears of joy flow from their eyes. When they had recovered themselves, they began to speak to me with the utmost pleasure. All their scruples were removed, and they seemed as much at home with me as if they had known me some years. In this frame we went to chapel, and the dew rested on my branch. As we went to chapel, the old man said to me, “You will give yourself out to preach again at night.” I said, “I cannot say anything about preaching again. Perhaps once will be quite enough for you and myself also.” I rejoiced, but it was with trembling; for having been so often buffeted by Satan, and deceived by my own heart, after the Lord showered down his blessings upon me, it put me on my guard.
I was favoured with much light, peace, and liberty in preaching that morning, and the people appeared fixed and attentive. Service ended, I gave out that from the feelings I had, I would preach again at night, provided there was no objection. This gave very general satisfaction, I soon perceived. I returned and dined with the old man before mentioned, and we had some good conversation on the things of God. He remarked to me, “When I heard you break off so abruptly, and saw you sit clown so suddenly, I was afraid you would not preach again, and I felt sorry that I should have been so scrupulous at the first.” I said, “You did right. We are not to lay hands suddenly upon any man; but prove all things, and hold fast that which is good.”
I should have observed, that after the Lord that morning had favoured me in prayer, I had a firm persuasion that he was now about to work, and that he would employ me wholly in the ministry; but where I knew not. I stopped with the people at Bristol two or three Lord’s days at their request; and before I left them, they had several meetings among themselves to see if means could not be devised to get me among them as a joint-labourer with Mr. Robins, as he could only preach there once on a Lord’s day.
Before I left them, they asked me many questions on the subject, as also how I was situated, and whether I could remove from Plymouth. I told them plainly that I certainly should leave Plymouth whenever the Lord opened a door for me that I could see his hand in; but at present I could not tell what to do. I had been expecting a letter from Birmingham, as I had promised my friend in Plymouth that I would preach there, if they requested me, before I returned; but the delay of the managers at Birmingham kept me in suspense some time; and I concluded on returning home, judging that my services were not wanted in Birmingham. I was about to take my place by the coach for Yeovil; but before I booked myself, I thought I would once more inquire if there was a letter for me from Birmingham. There was a letter, which had been received two days before, requesting me to come over and help them immediately, and apologizing for their delay, which arose through one of the managers being in London.
I left Bristol for Birmingham the next morning, after having taken a most affectionate leave of the old disciples, under whose roof I found a Bethel. Many others of the Lord’s family I also met with at Bristol at this time; and it now appeared a very different place to me to what it did about thirteen years before this period, which I have given an account of in a former part of this work. I believe the friends at Bristol would have strained every nerve to get me there, for they heard me to their souls’ satisfaction. I also think that they had some fears that some circumstance would take place to remove Mr. Robins wholly from them, which indeed was the case not long afterwards. The old disciple, whom I mentioned, died the same year; and he was the principal support of the chapel. An account of his death was sent to me by that plain, honest, upright servant of God, E. Robins, whose letter I shall here insert, to preserve it. Perhaps the only letter of his that will ever appear in print.
“Bristol, Jan. 22, 1814.
“Dear Friend, I am desired by Mrs. Hughes to say that she received your letter, and we are all glad to hear of your welfare, and hope that God’s goodness will ever pass before you, both in providence and in grace, and that you may enjoy much of the presence of God in your own soul, which is better than life itself; and we hope that God is leading and directing you to take up the stumbling-blocks out of the way of his people, and casting up the highway, that they may follow after, and enjoy him as their resting-place in every trouble and temptation they may meet with.
“It appears by your letter that you do not know of the death of Mr. Hughes; but I have to tell you that he was taken very ill on the 15th of November last; that he left this world for a better (I have every reason to believe) on the 2nd of December, and was buried on the 8th. By his death, I have lost a kind friend; the cause at Gideon Chapel, that he was the means of supporting, feels it also. But, blessed be God, the God of salvation is alive, and is at times graciously pleased to manifest himself to us in his own way, though we are but few and despised; and as nothing comes to pass by chance, so his promise is that all things shall work together for the good of those that fear and trust in him; who are, by the displays of his love to them, won over to love him above every object in heaven or on earth.
“In consequence of the death of our friend, Mrs. H. is in a great deal of trouble by the loss of her partner, and by the troublesome state she is left in, as it regards her concerns, and as it regards the chapel; and I am sure that she stands in great need of the prayers of all her friends, far and near, to besiege a throne of grace in her behalf, that God might give her faith to trust her whole concerns in his hands, and favour her with hope to expect all that she needs, and grant her patience to bear up under all, and resign her will to God’s dispensations and dealings; to be still, and to know that he is God. Indeed, my friend, she is in plenty of trouble; and if you can feel a heart to bear part of her burden at a throne of grace, do it, and may God give us success.
“If ever you should come into these parts, you are welcome to my pulpit at Bath, and we shall be glad to receive you, and it is the same at Bristol, if you do judge us to be faithful to the Lord. Here are a few that love the truth, though but a few; and dreadfully despised by men who profess the same truths as we do, yet we cannot fall in with them. But at the same time, we wish to embrace all that are in the truth, and bid them God speed, and reject all the rest; for it is plain to me that the scarcest things in all the world, are honest-hearted Christians, and honest-hearted preachers of God’s word; and I believe wherever they are to be found, they are truly precious in the eyes of God and good men.
“Will you be so kind as to give my kind love to Mr. And Mrs. H., to Mr. M., to Mr. J., to Mr. K., Mr. and Mrs. S., and to all that love the Lord Jesus; and may God bless you all.
“So prays, Yours in the bonds of love and peace,
“EDMUND ROBINS.”
[I have given the whole of the letter, to show the character of Mr. E. This man of God, whose robust constitution and powerful voice seemed to promise long life, wore himself out with preaching, a few years after this. He died near Wallingford, the same night he had preached, about the year 1817. See an epitaph designed for his grave-stone, in the 2nd vol. of my Original Hymns, p. 198.]“P. S. When you feel your mind at liberty, I should be glad to hear from you at any time, without any ceremony.”
PHOTO Henry Fowler—Gospel Standard 1864, Page 197, 230, 161,
I shall now return to my narrative. I proceeded to Birmingham, as before observed. This was about the latter end of August, 1813. I was most affectionately received by a worthy family, with whom I took up my abode during my visit. The first time I preached, I found much help from the Lord; and after I had done, a person came to me in the vestry, and said to me, “Do you think, Sir, that you have preached the truth to-day?” I said, “Yes, as far as I know, and to the best of my ability. But,” I said, “why do you ask that question?” This person replied, “You said, Sir, that when God was about to bring to pass his purpose, he poured out a spirit of prayer on his people; and if they were enabled to find access to God, they might conclude that God was about to grant them their request. Do you think that you really spoke the truth?” I said, “Yes, I am confident of it; for God would never help our infirmities in prayer, without intending to answer prayer.” Then said this person, “I am confident that God will settle you over us as our minister.” I said, with surprise, “You judge too soon; you are in too much haste; you don’t know enough of me; you don’t know how I am situated.” “That is true,” said this person; “but I can tell you that you are brought here in answer to the many prayers that I have put up to God for these six months past. God gave me a promise, and faith to believe the promise; and don’t you think that he will fulfil his word, and answer the prayer of faith?” I said, “You seem very confident, my friend, but you don’t know how I am situated, and what difficulties stand in the way.” This person replied, “I care nothing about difficulties. God has given me the promise, and I can believe it. Besides, I know it will come to pass; for you have expressed my whole desires to God in prayer, and brought out all the exercises of my mind, and repeated the very promises that God has enabled me to plead in prayer this day.” “Well,” I said, “time will show how far you are correct.”
The feelings of many others were very much like this person’s. Having spent three weeks amongst them, I was obliged to return home, but before I left them, they had met together and come to a determination to give me a call, which they did. I could not give them an immediate answer. It required due consideration and much prayer. But I told them they should hear from me in about a month. In the meantime, I said, “I think, my friends, that you have given me a call too hastily. You know nothing of me, or of my moral character. I wish, before you proceed any further, that you will make every inquiry about me, that you may not be deceived as many have been.” They said, “We feel satisfied for ourselves; and whom could we write to about you?” I said, “Write to Dr. Hawker. He does not know that I am here, nor have I seen him for some time; but he knows me well;” and to this proposition they agreed. The managers wrote, and Dr. Hawker promptly answered in reply to them. They requested permission to print the letter, but the Doctor put a negative on it. I think it right, however, now the Doctor has joined the general assembly above, to insert the letter in this place, and his second letter too, for I think they will be read with pleasure by many of my friends:
“Plymouth, Charles Vicarage, Oct. 5, 1813.
“Dear Sir, Grace, mercy, and peace be with you, and with the whole Israel of God.
“In answer to your letter respecting Mr. Fowler, I can only say that I have long known him, and long loved him, because I verily believe he hath loved, and doth love my Lord and Master. And should it please the great Head of his church to employ him, that he may go in and out before you in the ministry of the word, may the Lord who sends bless his services, so that Jesus be glorified, the church edified, and his own soul refreshed.
“If he be with you, give my love to him, and tell him that I hope and trust he will go on to exalt Christ Jesus. And I beg you to tell him that as a faithful servant should honour a kind master, so I hope he will prove himself a faithful servant by honouring the LORD our righteousness, the best, the kindest, the most blessed, the most dear and precious of all Masters. It is high treason to the Majesty of heaven to preach anything but Jesus, in his Person, offices, character, and relations. And my poor prayers will follow my letter, that my dear Mr. Fowler will above all things honour him whom Jehovah delighteth to honour; and that he will make the Lord Jesus what Jehovah hath made him, the Alpha and Omega, the first and the last, the author and finisher of salvation.
“And if you will allow an old man, hastening on to the close of his poor ministry, to say a word to the church which is among you on the subject of your minister, I would say as Paul did, ‘Receive him in the Lord’s name, (not his own,) and esteem him very highly in love for his work’s sake.’ Pray for him, and pray with him. It is a blessed sign of good when the Holy Ghost sets his people to pray for a blessing on the labours of his servants. That blessing and that promise is as good as received which God the Spirit teacheth the faithful to ask in prayer. My poor soul hath found, yea, often found, the Lord’s blessings, in answer to his people’s prayers. And you will find a fulness of blessing from the Lord’s blessings on his ministry to your hearts, when the Lord hath enabled you to hold him up to the Lord, in seeking by prayer his grace upon him.
“I commend both you, the church, and him, the church’s minister, to the Lord for blessing; and pray the glorious Head to bless both together, to his glory and your joy in the Lord.
“This from the unworthiest of his servants.
“Yours in the Lord Jesus,
“ROBERT HAWKER.”
“Plymouth, Oct. 27, 1813.
“Dear Sir, I beg to make a tender of my Christian love and affection to you, and the church of God which is with you, praying that all grace may abound in the covenant faithfulness of God our Father, through the dear Son of his love, by the blessed influence of God the Holy Ghost.
“Indeed, indeed, I thank the church of God with whom you are one, in that you so kindly and affectionately received my poor letter. It was written, if I know anything of my own heart, in the brotherly love of one that desires (at least) to love the precious name of our dear Lord exalted and extolled, and to be very high. And where Christ and his cause are concerned, there would I feel all that Paul felt, when to the church of the Thessalonians he said, he was so affectionately desirous concerning the people that he would have imparted unto them not the gospel of God only, but also, said he, our own souls, because ye were dear to us. And surely all that a faithful servant of such a Master as Jesus is, all he hath, and all he is, and by every way, and in everything, his one, yea, his only object is, and ought to be, how to promote his Lord’s glory in his church’s happiness. And though I know not what I wrote to you on the occasion for which you wrote to me, yet certain I am the whole tendency of my letter must have been to this purpose: Let the Lord Jesus and his cause be glorified, and it matters not by what instrument, or by what form of words.
“I pray you, therefore, my dear brother in the Lord, tell the church which is with you, how very highly I prize their affectionate acceptance of my letter. But having said this, there let it rest. Kindly as you all have read it, it cannot be fit for print. It was written in the moment of your question, and no further. Besides, though I have a very high regard for dear Mr. Fowler, and have said no more of him than I believe, yet it would not be suitable or becoming in me to send forth his character (according to my views) to the world. The Lord grant that he may be found faithful, and may my God, if it be for his glory, bless you and him together. And if the sweet savour of Jesus, in his Person, grace, and favour, be among you, the account of this, from time to time, will be more refreshing to my soul than though my poor letter was framed in gold.
“Be assured, my dear friend in the Lord, that my poor prayers will follow Mr. Fowler to Birmingham, and go up before the mercy-seat for you and him, as oft as I think of you all, that Jesus’s love may cement you, and cause great soul prosperity among you; and like the flock of Christ coming up from the washing, every one may bear twins, and none be found barren among you. (Song 4:2.)
“I beg you to give my brotherly love to your pastor; and once more say to him, from me, that as my Lord and his Lord hath advanced him to great honour, he and I ought to seek increasing grace from the Lord, to reflect all that honour back again with great thankfulness to the Lord. It matters not what becomes of such poor worms as we are, provided Jesus is glorified; and as the souls of Christ’s people are precious to our Lord, yea, very precious, so ought they (and so will they, I trust) be very precious to us also. And do tell my brother to be looking out for opposition from without, in proportion as the Lord Jesus makes him useful within. The servants most employed by Jesus will be sure to have most of the devil’s grudge; and especially if Jesus employs them in soul-comforting and soul-strengthening his people. The more Jesus smiles on them, the more hell will frown. But it is Jesus who must bear up and bear through all opposition. This is his work, and not ours; and his is the glory to make more than conquerors all his redeemed, while going on as one is described, Ps. 71:13-16; and always on the look out, as another is represented, 2 Tim. 4:5-8.
“Brethren, the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Ghost, be with you all. Amen.
“Yours, in the best of all Bonds in Jesus,
“ROBERT HAWKER.”
This journey very much improved my health, and braced my shattered nerves; but the greatest mercy was, the cloud went before me, and the Angel of the covenant to keep me in the way.
Having returned to Plymouth in safety, through the Lord’s preserving mercy, I made known to my wife the result of my journey; and I told her it appeared now that the Lord’s time was come for me to leave Plymouth, and to be engaged wholly in the ministry; and she was quite willing that I should pursue that course which I thought agreeable to the will of God. After laying the matter many times before God for direction, I came to a determination to accept the call from the people at Birmingham. I then called on Dr. Hawker, who most affectionately received me. “I thought,” said he, “that you were at Birmingham; for I have received a letter from there on your account.” “I judge so,” I said. “I made free to refer them to you for my satisfaction as well as theirs.” “I have written to Birmingham,” said the Doctor, “and was glad of an opportunity so to do on your account.”
After I had stated my motives, and many things relative to the exercises of my mind respecting the ministry, and satisfied the Doctor’s many inquiries relating to my temporal prospects, he bade me God-speed. I may say, though I never was ordained by what is called a bishop, I was ordained by Dr. Hawker, in his study; and the charge I received from him I shall not soon forget. He suggested to me many things as to word, doctrine, manner, and behaviour, both in the world and in the church of God, that did credit to his judgment as a venerable and judicious servant of God. At the conclusion, he said, “Now, my brother, I beg you to write to me without the least reserve, if you should be under any difficulty, either in spirituals or temporals, and I shall be glad to have an opportunity to render you any service that lies in my power.” I thanked him for his many kindnesses to me in this instance, and for many others heretofore. “My prayer,” he said, “to my covenant God and Father shall be that he may make you a blessing to the poor people where you are going.”
Dr. Hawker shone brightly as a preacher, nor less so by his humility, condescension, and brotherly kindness.
Having settled upon removing to Birmingham, I had now, with all speed, to wind up my little business. This lay very weighty on my mind; and I was obliged to cry mightily to God for wisdom and direction; for, though the winding up of my affairs neither required an accountant nor a solicitor, yet I was as much perplexed as a tradesman who had carried on a business of a much greater magnitude. I was in debt about as much as I had on my books, and several sums I considered lost.
My unbelief now began to work. My carnal reason said, “There is no probability that you will get in one half the debts; for when it is known that you are going to leave these parts, even those that could pay you will take advantage of your removal, and you will be obliged to leave the town in debt.” And so it appeared to me, which brought me into great perplexity for several days; but I gave myself to prayer, and waited for God’s answer, as a child would wait on his parents for bread; nor did I pray in vain.
As I was returning from a village where I had been to preach, begging the Lord’s direction in regard to the insurmountable difficulties before me, I was stopped in a moment by I will not say a voice, but it was equal to it; and it was this: “Has not God made all things straight hitherto? Has not God given a spirit of prayer to the people at Birmingham for you, and a willing heart to receive you? Are not the gold and the silver the Lord’s? Are not the hearts of all men in his hands? Is there anything too hard for God? Take and make out all your bills, good and bad, and deliver them. Leave the Lord to manage for you.” These impressions completely delivered me from all anxious care from that moment, touching my debts. I set to work the next morning, and delivered all my bills as fast as I could make them out; and I told all my debtors, as soon as I delivered the bill, that I was about to leave that part of the country.
Now, reader, you will observe, that though many impressions on our minds may mislead us, some impressions are from God, and the event proves it. As fast as I gave in my bills, so fast they were paid; and some that I considered lost were paid as promptly as the rest. Such as had not money borrowed it of their neighbours to pay me, and expressed many good wishes for my success. Thus I got in, in the course of a few days, the whole that was owing to me, except one half-crown, and that I think I might have received if I had had time to find the party. Whether my impressions came from God, let the reader judge. Few men ever wound up their affairs so easily, and with such little expense. I was now enabled to discharge all my bills, which is a great relief to the mind of every honest man, and make preparations for starting, with my wife and four children. I had my goods removed to an auction-room for sale, and it rained in torrents the whole day of the sale; nevertheless, there was a large company, and my goods made considerably more, some of them, than I gave for them when new; so that it appeared to me that God was determined to show me his goodness as a God of providence, and put my unbelief to flight.
These events may be uninteresting to some who have not been situated as I was. But I could not pass by the kind interpositions of Divine Providence; nor am I justified by the word of God to impute my smallest mercies to blind chance; but to acknowledge God in everything and for everything.
I left Plymouth about the 22nd of October, and never was a poor prisoner more glad to escape from prison than I was to turn my back upon Plymouth. I had, indeed, had mercies there, and for which I desire to bless God; but I was kept twelve months in continual conflicts, crosses, and disappointments; neither did I feel much union to many in that place; for they had plenty of religion in their heads and upon their tongues, but very little real faith “well tried by fire,” in their hearts.
When I left Plymouth, I looked back under a sense of sweet gratitude for the mercies which had followed me up to that day, and was fully satisfied that my removal was of God, and that wheresoever I went he would be with me, and bless me. I took several days in going’ to Birmingham, and stopped at several places for the rest and comfort of my family; and by the blessing of God, we arrived safely, and were kindly received by our friends.
When I was within ten miles of Birmingham, I had a most horrible attack from the enemy, as I imagine, which shook my whole frame. This was the suggestion: “You have acted a most foolish part in this business; you have given up a certainty for an uncertainty. You are going to a strange place, without any prospect of success; you know how often you have been embarrassed in preaching, when you were only occasionally engaged; what are you to do, when you have to preach constantly to the same people? You will never be able to preach above half-a-dozen times, and then the people will grow weary of you, and dismiss you, and then how are your poor helpless children to be provided for, more than two hundred miles from their home! You have not the common feelings of a man towards his wife, nor of a father to his children.” These suggestions quite overwhelmed me for several miles, for all appeared reasonable and true. But the good Lord was pleased to help me with a little help, and I saw that my whole dependence for success was on him.
This sharp contest began as we passed over Bromesgrove Lickey; and as I have passed the same spot many times since, I have always recollected this field of battle, and blessed God for the victory by faith. But this seemed a strange trial for me at this time, because I had seen the Lord’s hand so conspicuous in my movements before this. But I find the Saviour was sorely tempted by Satan, when he entered constantly on his work; and I believe it is generally so with his servants, that by these things they might be instructed to speak to tempted souls.
I was now at anchor, after many gales and heavy seas; I was now released from that tormenting uncertainty that I had laboured under for so many years; I was now in the situation where I had long wished to be, and found a heart to spend, and be spent, for the dear Redeemer’s glory, and for the good of immortal souls. Great things in this world I did not want; popularity I did not desire; and if I had, my line of preaching was not likely to procure it.
I should have observed, that on my arrival at Birmingham, that dear disciple who first spoke to me relative to my coming to Birmingham, met me at my lodging, and said to me, “Well, were my observations to you faith or presumption? I was as sure that you would be sent here, and that God would make all things straight, as of my existence.” I would observe, that my temporal prospects on going to Birmingham were not very flattering. The number of my hearers did not amount to one hundred, and the far greater part of them were poor labouring people. They did indeed enter into voluntary subscriptions, and set down the sums on paper; but many of them, through sickness and for the want of labour, were not able to fulfil their engagements. I had, therefore, some work for faith to do; but these things did not move me, though it roused the fears of several; and they said I never could be supported with my family, unless I went into business again. I said, “No; I have had a sad proof that God does not intend me to struggle any longer in business, but to preach his gospel; and I am persuaded, if he has sent me here, he will support me, and enable me to give myself wholly to the work of the ministry; for God takes care of oxen; and they that preach the gospel should live of the gospel. At all events, I will wait to see God’s hand for twelve months.”
When I entered on my ministry in this place, I found great liberty, and so it continued; so that I proved Satan a liar, and God true to his word. I perceived, also a gradual increase of hearers; and, according to the testimony of many, the word of God which I delivered was blessed among them, to the comfort of their souls, which became an additional confirmation to me that the Lord had sent me there.
The winter of 1814 was very severe, and I resided in a very cold house. The snow lay for many weeks on the ground, and the frost was most intense. Coming from a much warmer part of the kingdom, my family felt the severity of the weather very much; but through God’s goodness we had all good health through the winter. We had not luxuries, but what was much better, we had all that is necessary for the body, and more I did not covet. I had always been accustomed to plain living, and am still; and I am persuaded it is much the best both for the body and for the mind. High living diseases both; and he that pursues that course may expect a pretty large bill from the doctor every year. Poor living, no doubt, has slain its thousands; but high living has slain its tens of thousands. As for dress and gaudy apparel, I detested it, as a proof of a little mind, and highly unbecoming a Christian. “Be not conformed to this world,” surely has a meaning, and is not to be treated as an abrogated Act of Parliament. My custom has been through life never to live on the next year’s income; never to run into debt, in order to appear genteel, while it was upon other people’s property. I would rather make shifts and wait awhile than follow the too prevailing maxims of people of all ranks and conditions in this loose and frivolous age. I claim no merit because of these things. There may be pride mixed up with it; but if there be pride in it, I am saved a great deal of trouble, and others also by this my proceeding. How many ministers and private Christiana have I known justly reproached by the public for their careless indifference in the management of their worldly affairs. Some, too, I have known who seek to screen themselves under this idea, that they are suffering reproach for their religion, while, I fear, they are suffering reproach for the want of its proper influence over them. Also, I have heard such loose persons reproach the more prudent and managing class; but when, through their want of economy, and extravagance in their family, they are brought into difficulties, they know how to beg, and bow, and cringe to the parties they have reproached. “These things, my brethren, ought not to be.”
I passed the cold winter in my cold cottage; but in the spring removed to a comfortable little house in the Bristol Road. When I took it, some of my hearers expressed many fears that I should not be able to pay such a high rent, twelve pounds per annum; but I had no fears about it; for I saw that the Lord was on my side; and surely there was nothing like extravagance or ambition in my occupying a house rented at twelve pounds per annum. Some of my London friends may wonder at the fears of some of my then hearers, and wonder more that I could call such a house a comfortable one; and for their satisfaction I will observe, I had a neat parlour and a roomy, good kitchen on the same floor, and two good bedrooms above; an arched cellar below for coals, &c.; a good back-house for washing or brewing; a neat little garden in the front, and a long slice of a garden behind, and the use of a pump of good water for all necessary purposes.
Before I leave these temporal matters, I will make an observation or two on some things which rather surprised me. I perceived in the spring and summer after I arrived, a number of men regularly going to their gardens on a Lord’s day morning, furnished with spade, rake, &c., with some shopmates to assist, both to work, and to drink their strong ale; for they were not very sparing in that article. Another thing much struck me, namely, many of the cottage owners preferred Lord’s day morning to any other time to collect their weekly rents. Perhaps it was wise to collect their rents weekly, for both parties. But, then, I thought Monday morning was a more proper time, for common decency sake. One of my hearers, too, used to come to chapel very late on a Lord’s day morning, which I used to be surprised at; but upon inquiry I understood that he was obliged to collect his cottage rents, and could not come sooner. Shame! shame on such professors of religion! Forethought saw two evils in delaying till Monday morning. The poor cottager with his free companions might perchance run through his weekly earnings before Lord’s day night, or if not, it would be a great interruption to business to spend all Monday morning in collecting rents! I hope by this time that that body of people who are so warm for the reform of abuses have begun a reform at home. But enough of this subject; too much, perhaps, some will say.
I now felt the weight of the ministry more than ever; and the different characters I had to mix with tried me not a little. I had many mercies, and many crosses; the common lot of God’s people. When I first came to Birmingham, I was given to understand that the debt on our chapel was about three hundred pounds; and I proposed to go to London, and beg, in order to rub off some part of the debt. This was gladly acceded to, and I went for that purpose in the month of May, 1814. I had a recommendation from Dr. Hawker. I spent six weeks in London, and walked about twelve miles each day; but mine not being a “Board Case,” it met with a cool reception.
I continued labouring in this place for upwards of seven years.
PHOTO Henry Fowler—Gospel Standard 1864, Page 230, 161,
Soon after I came to Birmingham, I became acquainted with my worthy friends Warburton and Gadsby, and we have continued in brotherly friendship ever since, though many attempts have been made by persons to separate us. Tale-bearers often separate chief friends. I would observe, that my chapel, and the doctrines generally preached there, were held in contempt by most of the good religious folks of Birmingham. We were held up as Antinomians, as a bugbear to frighten people from our place; most of these pious people, such as Baptists, Independents, and Arminians, being all agreed in pouring contempt on us. As a proof that we were vile characters, they would name several persons who had been hearers of Mr. Bradford, but who turned out base characters, which indeed was too true. On the other hand, some of my hearers thought that these pious people should have been silent; because they knew many persons who had been separated from their society for crimes too bad to mention. Some indeed did not wait for dismissal; but hastened, with all the goods and cash they could scrape together, to that great receptacle of good and bad, America. So that my poor people, though not much distinguished for education, really thought these pious people who had reproached them were not good reasoners, nor very fair in their dealings with their neighbours.
I would observe, also, that the pious people alluded to considered the moral law to be their rule of life, were advocates for progressive holiness, and firmly stood to it that it was the duty of all men to believe; but as for the doing part, they left that to the despised Antinomians; and they, poor creatures, found that to do the best they could, they were at the best but “unprofitable servants.” As we increased in numbers, the opposition of these pious people increased; but their opposition answered the purpose of a bellman and saved us the expense.
Many, out of curiosity, came to hear me. Having heard many remarks made about me at tea-parties, and sometimes in public, too plain to be misunderstood, their curiosity was stirred, and they came to hear what the babbler had to say; and some of them carried back a good report of the land, which induced others to come. This much displeased a Mr. B., as if I could help his hearers leaving him. However, I bore the blame; nor did Mr. B. speak to me, or even look pleasant, when I met him, which I often did, as we lived but a few doors apart.
Mr. Brewer, another minister who lived near me, was more friendly, and would often talk a few minutes when we met; but the last time I saw him, I was much grieved on his account. I saw him walking in his garden, and he appeared ill, and somewhat agitated, I thought. I stopped, and asked him how his health was. He said, “I am very poorly indeed.” “You appear so, Sir,” I said. “I hope all is well with you in the best sense?” He said, “I shall soon leave all here, and be in a happier place, I suppose.” “My dear Sir,” I said, “I hope your future prospects do not rest upon a supposition?” To which he made no distinct reply, that I could hear, but turned from me, and I never saw him afterwards. As soon as we parted, I could not help lifting up my heart to God with thanksgiving, for giving me the spirit of adoption, as the blessed earnest-penny of the future inheritance. This Mr. Brewer is said to have been the author of that well-known hymn:
“Hail! Sovereign love!”
And if he felt the doctrines that the hymn expresses, he doubtless is singing in nobler strains above, gloomy as he might have been in his last moments.
There was also another minister, who went and settled in Birmingham about the time I did, and from near the same place, a Mr. J. B. He was of the new school, and deeply drenched in the doctrines of Andrew Fuller. He knew something of me in Devonshire, and disapproved of my preaching at Ivybridge; and said he would not subscribe two pounds per annum to our little place, if such persons as myself were permitted to preach there.
Some time after I came to Birmingham, a poor man, who was very ill, sent for me to visit him, as he had heard me much to his satisfaction several times. A sister of this poor afflicted man was a member with the above Mr. J. B., and she requested him to visit her brother. As I entered into the poor afflicted man’s dwelling, I met Mr. J. B. coming down stairs. As he passed, I paid him the usual compliments, which he civilly returned; but he appeared rather abashed, I thought. When I entered the poor man’s room, I found him in a state of great excitement. I said, “What is the matter with you?” He then, as soon as he could recover himself, made the following observations, in substance: “My sister has sent Mr. J. B. To me, and he has upset me. I wish I had not seen him. He asked me how I felt in my mind, and I told him very happy, and I was sure I should go to glory whenever I died; at which he seemed surprised, and bade me not to be presumptuous. He said, ‘Whose ministry have you attended?’ I said, ‘I have been several times to hear Mr. Fowler; and I bless God that I ever heard him, for by his ministry the fear of death has been removed, and my interest in God’s electing love made plain to me.'” Mr. B. was quite shocked at the poor man’s observations, and said, “What! go to hear such a dangerous character as that! He preaches dangerous doctrine.” “I know nothing,” said the poor man, “of Mr. Fowler, nor where he came from; but I know his doctrine is the truth of God, for I have felt the power of it in my own soul; and if the Lord restores me to health, I shall go and hear him again.” “If you are determined.” said Mr. B., “I must leave you to do as you please;” and he abruptly departed. When the poor man related these things to me, I was not at all surprised at the confusion the gentleman appeared in as I entered the house. This gentleman, was highly esteemed for his candour and charity by most of the professors in Birmingham, and was like a bishop in the Baptist connexion. But, then, I did not belong to his regiment, and so had no share in his candour and charity.
One circumstance connected with the above gentleman, or with his people, I think it right to mention. On one occasion, a very respectable gentleman, of great property, came on a visit to Birmingham. The parties whom he visited were related to him, and the leading persons in Mr. B.’s church. This respectable gentleman had some knowledge of me, and was well trained in the school of Christ, under that venerable servant of God, Mr. Romaine. When he came to Birmingham, he inquired respecting the state of religion, and what ministers they had in Birmingham. He was told of most of the excellent and popular ministers in the town, but myself was left out; upon which the old gentleman said, “Are those you have mentioned all the preachers you have in Birmingham?” “Yes,” said the person; “they are all of any respectability. There is a man who preaches to a few poor people, but he is not respected by many persons.” “Indeed!” said the old gentleman, “how is that? What sentiments do they hold at that place?” “They are considered Antinomians,” said the person. “What night in the week,” said the old gentleman, “have they preaching?” And he was told that the said place was open the same evening. “Then,” said he, “I should like to go and hear what this Antinomian has to say. Perhaps you will go with me?” To which proposition the party assented. He ordered his carriage, and came to hear me, and was so well satisfied that he, and his worthy partner, came to hear me again on the following Lord’s day; and after I had done, he came to me, with tears in his eyes, and said, “I will not support errors; but where I hear Christ exalted, and the union set forth between Christ and his church, and a full and free salvation preached, I feel a pleasure in supporting it;” and he put twenty pounds into my hand as a token of regard to me for Christ’s sake! I did not then know the amount, as the notes were folded; but I thanked him, and we parted. After he was gone, my managers came into the vestry with the proceeds of the collection at the doors, and were surprised that the lady of the above generous friend had put into the plate a five-pound note, which more than doubled our usual collection.
One circumstance arising out of this smiling providence I will not suppress, though not much to my credit. But first I would observe, I had borrowed, some time before this, fifteen pounds of a friend, but my limited salary, and my increasing family, prevented my paying it; and though the lender was quite easy about it, and would never trouble me for it, that debt often troubled me, and the exhortation, “Owe no man anything,” I often found to press upon me. As soon as the worthy gentleman gave the sum before stated, my debt came before me, and I was truly thankful both to the giver and to God for putting it into his heart at such a time. “This sum,” I said, “will pay the fifteen pounds, and I shall have five left; and as the Lord has been so kind to me in providence, I will send one pound to an aged disciple in the country.” Thus I had disposed of sixteen pounds in my mind. I then began to consider what the children wanted, and what might be needed about the house, and what expenses would unavoidably occur in a month or two after this; but when I had made a calculation of all these items, I found I could not spare one shilling for the old disciple, and so I abandoned the thought; for if I had had ten pounds more given to me, it would not have answered my present wants, and those that were before me. So I came to the conclusion to pay off the fifteen pounds I had borrowed, and lay out on my family the remaining five in such things as were immediately wanted, and my mind seemed satisfied that this was the most prudent step. This plan I executed as soon as possible. This done, I was severely reproved both by conscience and the word of God. I could not trust God to send more supplies when I needed. My selfishness prompted me to withhold a pound from a poor old disciple, who was dependent on the bounties of Providence for his daily bread. He must do the best he could; my family wanted, or would want, all, nay more than I was likely to get. On reflecting on my baseness, I said to myself, “I shall not be surprised if the Lord withholds his providential kindness from me as a chastisement for my base unbelief;” and so it fell out; for I do not think I received any very manifest display of providential kindness for six months after this; so true are the words of Solomon, “There is that scattereth and yet increaseth, and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, and it tendeth to penury.” I set down these things as a buoy that the spiritual mariner may steer his vessel, and avoid the rock on which I ran.
For several years I had no wish nor thought about leaving Birmingham; but about the fourth year I had been there, some characters puzzled and tried me much. The church, also, if it might be so called, was not constituted nor governed in, what I considered, a scriptural manner, which made my mind rather uneasy. I considered whether it was practicable to make an alteration; but I came to this conclusion that, under all circumstances, I had better let it remain as it was; for I thought that to attempt an alteration would be likely to break up the concern, and then those few who were blessed under my ministry would be deprived of it altogether. I remember I one time told some of our managers not to make any new arrangements about the chapel on my account, for I was persuaded I had a work to do elsewhere; but where or when I should remove I knew not, nor should I inquire, nor use any means to promote my removal.
I had good reasons for thinking I should be removed, but chose to suppress them, lest it should be considered marvellous. My sphere was very limited in Birmingham and in the places round. I preached a few times at West Bromwich, where there was something of the form of truth but little power, with many irregularities in the walk of several. I felt no union of soul to those I met with there, nor am I surprised at it. “How can two walk together, except they be agreed?” There must be something more than building a chapel, establishing a Sunday-school, and huddling people together as church members, to constitute a prosperous church. Where there is no life, there is no real union; and where union is, it will be much tried by reason of the saints’ depravity. I had heard from good authority that there were many gracious souls at West Bromwich; but I discovered very few. The less of true religion in the heart, the more noise generally; and real spirituality of mind is often hid under the veil of modesty.
The last two years that I spent in Birmingham, I used to visit Walsall frequently. I went there first to preach at the earnest request of a number of persons who had separated from the chapel in which Mr. T. Grove preached for about 30 years. When Mr. Grove died, the people chose for their pastor a young man who preached, as was said, very different doctrine to what the people had been accustomed to hear from Mr. Grove. Many of the people, therefore, left, and hired a large club-room connected with a public-house. This room would contain more than three hundred persons. My labours there were chiefly on a week-night; and others used to be employed to preach to them on a Lord’s day. I seldom had a barren time in preaching to this people, though I never saw less spirituality among a people, considering their number and the person they had been in the habit of hearing for so many years. But, alas! poor Thomas Grove, I fear, did not bring forth fruit in old age; he was not fat and nourishing in his latter years, whatever he might have been soon after he was expelled, as he was, from the University of Oxford, with five others. Grove outlived all the rest of the expelled students, and died when he was about 80 years old. I much respected him, as I heard him with some satisfaction preach in London several sermons, on “He is Precious,” “The Precious Blood of Christ,” and “Precious Faith.” This was about the year 1799; but when I met him in Walsall about the year 1815, and he understood that I preached in the place where Mr. Bradford preached, he left me, I thought, rather abruptly; and I never saw him afterwards.
I had from that time an earnest desire to preach at Walsall, and I had prayed the Lord to open the door for that purpose; therefore, when the people applied to me, I could not refuse. My first text was, “I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ,” &c. How far my testimony was blessed is not for me to say; but I met a person in Reading, on my return from Bath a few years back, who used to bear me at Walsall, and he told me he was confident my testimony had been blessed to many. He mentioned one person particularly, a common prostitute. This reclaimed poor sinner went, after my removal from London, to join the church where Mr. Grove used to preach, and to which my hearers, for the most part, returned after I left. When this woman was requested to give an account of the means of her conversion, she said, “The life I have lived and the course I have followed is generally known through the town; and these practices I followed till I went, one night, to hear a man by the name of Fowler, at the mud-hole! (for that was the name these pious people gave our preaching-room,) where I was struck with horror at the awful state I was in; and I could no longer continue in those abominable practices, but wished to be with God’s people not that I am worthy to be in their company.” I have thought, if this was the real work of God on this poor sinner, I am amply satisfied for all my harassings of mind and body, which were sometimes too much for my frail frame. But the day shall declare it. I should, however, be much gratified to hear that this poor sinner wears well.
God has, in all ages, manifested his rich and sovereign grace to many of the worst of characters; as Rahab the harlot, the woman of Samaria, the woman taken in the act of adultery, Mary Magdalene, and others; and in viewing these things, I am ready to exclaim, with George Whitefield, “Free grace for ever!”
I must here relate an anecdote, which I received from the mouth of a character of the above description, at Exeter, many years ago. She had been as notorious as any person of that description in Exeter; but, under the ministry of that blessed servant of God, Henry Tanner, she was snatched as a brand from the fire; and the power of God was so manifest in turning her from darkness to light that she was received as a proper member into Mr. Tanner’s church.
Some envious and pharisaic persons raised a report that Mr. Tanner had received into his church a base character. On one Saturday two ministers waited on Mr. Tanner to expostulate with him, and reprove him for the impropriety of his conduct in receiving such an awful character into his church, which was calculated to bring reproach on the cause of God. Mr. Tanner, though very warm in his temper naturally, listened patiently to all they had to say, and casting his eyes toward the field opposite his window, across which was a common footpath, he saw the obnoxious character with a piece of serge on her shoulder, taking it to her employer. He ran to the door, and called aloud, “Molly, come in. Here are two gentlemen who want to speak to you.” Molly entered with a piece of serge on her back, and set it down in the parlour. Mr. Tanner then said, “Molly, these gentlemen are blaming me for receiving you into my church. They say you have been a notorious character!” “It is all true,” said Molly, “and I know that I am not worthy to be among the children of God.” “Well,” said Mr. Tanner, “I wish you to relate to these gentlemen your conversion and experience.”
She gave them a full account of God’s dealings with her; and they had not one word to oppose. Mr. Tanner then said to them, “Find one in all your congregations that can give a better account of God’s teaching than Molly, if you can!” and they were perfectly satisfied.
PHOTO Henry Fowler—Gospel Standard 1864, Page 161
In 1818 and 1819, I occasionally preached at Coventry, but not in a chapel. No pulpit could be obtained for me; but I used to preach in a private house. There were a few who loved to hear a free-grace gospel, and but a few. Those few used to meet together for prayer and reading, when they had no preacher. I have preached there a few times since I settled in London; but some who used to hear me formerly I found declining, and were content with doctrines preached that were far enough from gospel truth. Politics, and outside religion ran high in this dark place. Very few there know either themselves or Christ, from all that I can gather. Carnal security and self-complacency are true symptoms of the want of spiritual life. But if you do not acknowledge such persons as Christians, it is an iniquity, in their estimation, to be punished by the judge. I once had permission to preach in some school-room at Coventry, and it was announced in different directions; but when I arrived at the place, I was given to understand that a dissenting minister had interfered, and I was not permitted to preach in the school-room; so I took refuge and preached in a private house. Had I been an Arminian, or an Arian, I might have found no difficulty in obtaining a pulpit. O how busy the devil and his agents are in labouring to keep Christ and his people in the background!
In August, 1819, I received an invitation to preach in Bodicott, in Oxfordshire. I had had a previous intimation that in all probability I might be invited to supply a chapel in London a few weeks, if I had no objection to go. I signified my assent, provided I saw no obstacle in the way when I received the invitation. Not having heard from London on the subject, I wrote to Bodicott to say that I would be there for four Lord’s days, as requested. On the morning as I was packing up for my journey, a letter arrived from London, requesting me to supply the chapel in Conway Street three Lord’s days. I had no time to consult my friends on the subject; but when I arrived at Bodicott I wrote to London to say that I would supply for them. I spent five weeks at Bodicott, which was a much longer period than I had intended, in order to suit the arrangements of the managers in London. At Bodicott I found but few persons that I could be satisfied with, as partakers of the grace of God in truth, though we were very well attended as to numbers. I was as barren and lifeless in my own soul the five weeks I was there as I ever was since I knew the Lord. How far my preaching was of use to any one, I know not. I received the greatest tokens of kindness from my friend Mr. A. and family; but nothing of the creature’s can cure a barren soul, or make a miserable man happy. It added also much weight to my trial, that I must go to London in this miserable and barren state of soul, and have to preach to a large congregation who had sat for years under Mr. Huntington, and other great men, the latchet of whose shoes I was not worthy to loose. I was vexed that I had so hastily given my promise; but now it was too late. As I had engaged, I proceeded to London when I had finished my engagement at Bodicott. This was early in October.
When I arrived in London, I was kindly received by the friends, but greatly tried in my mind, from the bondage and darkness of soul I had laboured under for many weeks. I was also but delicate in my health, and the distress of my mind added to my weakness of body. This was a time of much prayer; for I felt most sensibly that if the Lord did not help me I could neither pray publicly nor preach; for I seemed stripped of everything, and like a man bound fast, hand and foot. O how I grieved that ever I should have been so foolish as to make any engagement to preach in London! But I believe the enemy had great power over me, though I could not then see it. When Lord’s day morning came, I was surprised to see such a number of people crammed together, so that it was with some difficulty I could get to the pulpit. The heat of the place was such, from the low-pitched ceiling, and being but feeble, that I feared I should not be able to speak so as to be heard. I was obliged to lift a prayer to my gracious God and Father that, as he had often brought me through my difficulties, so he would be pleased to give me all I needed, both for myself and his people. I felt, indeed, the need of his helping hand; and he was graciously pleased to grant it me; for as soon as I began to pray, I found nearness of access to his blessed Majesty, and I was overwhelmed at the sight of his goodness, which was made to pass before me. My text was, “Bring my soul out of prison, that I may praise thy name.” This had been my prayer for many weeks; but the answer was delayed till this time of greater necessity. Suffice it to say, I never found so much liberty in preaching as at this time; and I was persuaded that the presence of God was with his people, as well as with myself. Nor was I deceived, as several now with me can testify, from their own experience. I spent three weeks with this people, and left them, in love and affection, with a promise, at their request, to see them again. This event led ultimately to my being settled in London.
Having finished my engagements in London, I returned to Birmingham, to my family and little flock, after an absence of about two months. But while I was absent, a spirit of fear and suspicion worked in the minds of my Birmingham friends, as I found when I had returned, that I should leave them; not that I had said a word on the subject to them; nor had any correspondence on that subject taken place between me and the friends in London. The first Lord’s day I preached again at home I was completely fettered, though my soul’s desire was to impart unto them some spiritual blessings that they might be refreshed. This tried me much; but as I was returning from chapel, I said to my wife, “I think that the people in London have been praying that my mouth might be stopped this morning, that the people here might be willing to give me up.” Thus I continued for some time preaching in bondage and darkness; and as I felt, so it appeared to me the people were; but I might be mistaken.
This brings me to the conclusion of my “Travels in the “Wilderness,” up to 1819, which I shall conclude, by taking a retrospective view of my exercises while I was at Birmingham. As respects temporal things, I was never more comfortable, and I enjoyed the friendship and affection of most of my hearers, who would have gladly rendered me any further assistance if I had wanted it. My people, generally, were not polished, but plain and rude, as some would say. They had, however, that which was preferable to fine manners; they were open, generous, and kind, which I speak to their praise.
In regard to my exercises as a minister and as a Christian, my path was sometimes rough, and at other times smooth; but in general the Lord helped me by his power, in delivering his truth, and on some occasions my heart was greatly enlarged, and my cup was made to run over. Several young persons were called out of darkness into marvellous light, and some of them are still living and walking in the fear of God, who will be my crown of rejoicing in that day when the Lord shall make up his jewels. I have travailed in temptation, in great darkness, in bitterness of soul, many times for them, and God has heard my prayers for them and for their salvation; and through their prayers for me I have been strengthened in weakness, both of body and soul. Though, by a variety of circumstances, I cannot see them to break to them the bread of life, my prayer shall be in their calamities, that God may bless them abundantly with a rich enjoyment of his covenant love.
If at any time I have injured any of these my brethren in word or action, (which is very probable,) I hope they will be able to cast a mantle over these my infirmities; for I am nothing in myself but a most miserable sinner! My boasting must be in the Lord, and in the Lord only. The filthiness of the flesh, and the filthiness of the spirit, cleave to me to this day; and but for the fountain which cleanseth from all sin to apply to, I should sink in black despair.
I was kept while at Birmingham in constant exercise of mind. Sometimes I have laboured under the most horrid temptations, for many nights and days together, before the Lord has delivered me. Those temptations have often furnished me with texts and sermons which have been made a special blessing to many poor souls labouring under temptation. “Out of the eater comes forth meat, and out of the strong sweetness.”
Again, I have been beset with a spirit of blasphemy, and at other times with awful presumption, till I have feared I should be carried headlong before them. But that which I had to grapple most with was inordinate affection; and many hundred times have I cried to my God to subdue it, lest it should break out to the dishonour of his blessed name and cause; and such were the snares that often lay in my path, that if the Lord had not been my keeper, I should have fallen a prey to the evils of my heart; but these things, under God’s management, served to humble me and keep me little in my own esteem. These trials also enabled me to preach to the comfort of such as were tried in the same way.
I remember a good man once came to me full of trouble, and on inquiry I found that a trap had been laid for him, which was suited to his constitutional sin, and he had fallen foully, which had brought him into great distress of soul, as I evidently saw. The poor man. said, “I never once supposed that I should have fallen into the commission of that sin, and should have been ready to have cut off any man that had.” I said, “I have laboured under fears for these twenty years that I should fall; and from what you have said to me, I feel thankful for my fears; for they have been the means of my preservation.” This poor man had his bones sorely broken; but the Lord put away his sin, and restored unto him the joy of his salvation; and he made a most blessed and triumphant end. He was for months before he died longing to depart and to be with Christ. “Who is a God like unto thee?” If a man depend on his own strength, he will be as sure to fall as a temptation may lie in his way.
There are many things calculated to promote a man’s fall, all comprehended in “the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life;” and these should be well watched by the child of God, lest, by getting off his watch tower, and gratifying his vile flesh, he should go limping down to the grave. “Fools, because of their transgression, and because of their iniquities, are afflicted. Their soul abhorreth all manner of meat; and they draw near unto the gates of death. Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he saveth them out of their distresses.”
Thus I conclude my “Journeys in the Wilderness.” I have sufficient materials for another volume; but my continuing my narrative will depend on circumstances.
May the Lord bless what I have written agreeable to his holy word, and mercifully forgive all my errors and mistakes.
Re-perused, corrected, and finished by the Author,
Aug. 3, 1838.
Henry Fowler (1779-1838) was an Independent sovereign grace preacher and hymn writer. In 1813, he assumed responsibility for a gospel work in Birmingham. He removed to London in 1819, serving as pastor of Gower Street Chapel. The original congregation met in a chapel on Conway Street, and were followers of William Hintington’s ministry. Upon Mr. Fowler’s acceptance of the call to serve as pastor, a new chapel was built on Gower Street. This chapel (now demolished) was the predecessor to the old Gower Street Memorial chapel on Shaftesbury Avenue.
