“Are there not here Men who can say, in soberness and truth, That guilt is done away, and innocence, Fearless and free, restored within their breasts? That vice, with dark inextricable bands, No more detains, nor drives to acts of shame The blushing, reasoning, reluctant mind? That, for the passions, which by turns inspire The worthless life of nature,—anger, sloth, And avarice, and pride,—pure love prevails, Kindled by heaven, nor by a bad world quenched? That, they have inwardly exchanged their climate, And passed from death to life; so that their heart, Healed and exulting, from its deep recess, Returns this answer: That the power of evil, The sting of pain, and terrors of the grave, Are now no more, or but at distance rage In faithless minds; while not a dart can reach Their citadel of peace in Jesu’s love? That they, in short, to God’s paternal face And firm affection can appeal and look, Nor earthly griefs dare intercept the prospect; But still to every want they feel as men,— To every priestly, charitable prayer They breathe as saints of God; His ear and power Are nigh; till, thus, by constant use and proof Of aid celestial, heaven is, more than earth, Their home, the country of their heart and commerce?” More extracts are not needed. John Gambold, the learned, moping, gloomy, philosophic Mystic, became an humble, happy, trustful believer in Christ Jesus. He shall tell his own story. Though he was introduced to Böhler in January, 1738, and became his interpreter when he preached, yet, for two years after this, his state of mind was very painful. In a letter dated April 3, 1740, he describes himself as being “mostly pensive and dejected, surrounded with solitude, sickness, and silence; not gathering strength, like the heroes, from rich circumstances, but, like vulgar minds, contracting an abjectness that blunts every finer sentiment, and damps every nobler ardour of the soul.” The day of his deliverance, however, was drawing nigh. Speaking of the Moravians, he writes:—