Series 1 > Diary of Sir Archibald Johnston of Wariston 1632-1639

DIARY, 1687-1639
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that thou visitest him?’ Rot among men quhat am I? the vyledest,
filthiest, crookedest, senslesse[s]t of mankynd. Quho hes so oft
disobeyed thy praecepts, misbeleved thy promises, slighted thy
threats as I ? Quho so oft hes hardned thair auin heart, blind¬
folded thair mynd, cauterised wittinglie, willinglie, and wil¬
fully thair conscience as I ? Quho so oft hes broken his voues,
contradicted his promises, mensuorne his oaths maid to God
at his word, at his sacraments, in publik, in privat, under
crosses, under fears, under blissings, under hoopes, as I ? Quho
hes so oft returned with the dog to the vomit, with the sou to
the puddle of thair old abhominations as I ? Quho so oft wal-
loued himselth in idolatrie, wil worschip, blasphemie, breatch
of the Sabboth, disobedience, wronging thair neighbour in lyfe,
goods, chastitie, naime, and by concupiscence, as I in the
sight of God and of my auin conscience ? Rot, above al and in
a word for al, Quho so oft hes forsaiken the presence of God,
a felt, found, experimented fountain of living waiters of con¬
solation, direction, salvation, of graice, of glory, and digged to
themselves rottin cisternes of pleasures, profits, praeferments
quhilk in thair auin knouledge and sensible dearcoft experience
can hold no waiter at al hot of vanitie and vexation, as I, I, I,
miserable I, guilty above al expression or conception of this
crimson sinne of ane double dye ? And yett thou great God of
Izrael art my God from my mothers belly ; I was cast upon the
from the womb; thou maids me in secret; thou posessed my
reins; thou haist marked my doune sitting and my uprysing;
thou compassest my pathes and my lying doune; thou art
acquainted with al my wayes, and so directs and cairs for me
in them al as if thy eie looked to non, thy hand reatched to
non, thy heart loved non uther bot this miserable wretch with
quhom thou delyts to talk and walk in so particular a maner
and sensible measure of thy presence. Thou maiks me re- \joi.\
member the kyndnes of my youth, the love of thy espousals
quhen I went after the in the wildemes and entred on the
valley of Achor, the doore of hoope; quhen thou maidst me
duell in the midst of Carmel, feed in Raschan and Gilead;
quhen I was sick of love, stayed with thy flagons, comforted
with thy apples; bot since nou thou deinziest to pick out thy
unworthy, unable servant as on amongst a thousand, bidding