Never does a soul know what solid joy and substantial pleasure is till, once being weary of itself, it renounces all propriety, gives itself up to the Author of its being, and feels itself become a hallowed and devoted thing; and can say from an inward sense and feeling, My beloved is mine (I account all His interest mine own) and I am His: I am content to be anything for Him, and care not for myself, but that I may serve Him.

—Henry Scougal
Adapted from The Works of the Rev. H. Scougal (London: Ogle, Duncan, and Co., 1822), 28.


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