A Yorkshire Almanac Comprising 366 Historical Extracts, Red-letter Days and Customs, and Astronomical and Meteorological Data
Oliver Heywood. 1883. The Rev. Oliver Heywood, B.A., 1630-1702, Vol. 3/4. Ed. J. Horsfall Turner. Bingley: T. Harrison. Get it:
.On Monday morning, according to my usual course, I set myself in my study to plead with God for his church, this nation and our congregations. God did wonderfully draw out my heart, and my soul was warm and working busily at it. My wife called me down upon a slight occasion, I came down, chid her, and gave her sharp words, though alas she was ignorant of what I was doing. She took it sadly, fell a-weeping, was disconsolate all that day. Satan got hold, foisted vain imaginations into her mind, helped her to make bad constructions of it. That day we had little conference, but the morning after we discoursed it, I confessed my fault and folly in my passionate finding fault with her, and vainglory in discovering what I was doing. We knelt down by the bedside, I prayed, we both wept, were comfortably closed. This worked kindly on my heart through grace, I got to my study, fell to my reading my chapters, praying god sweetly helped, so in the family, then I resolved to spend the remainder of that forenoon in that sweet work, so I designed to confess my own sins, before that reading and commenting on Psalms 38, then prostrating myself, reckoning with grief what sins I could call to mind. Rose up, read Psalms 51, then fell down, pleaded for pardon, grace, for myself, wife. Then was taken off, returned, read Psalms 69, fell down, pleaded with God for church, nation, king, yet was not so large and enlarged as in the former.
To facilitate reading, the spelling and punctuation of elderly excerpts have generally been modernised, and distracting excision scars concealed. My selections, translations, and editions are copyright.
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Wikipedia appears to want us to think that a domestic dispute is bound to be violent, and that marital discord is marital breakdown pic.twitter.com/b87368sxLN— SingingOrganGrinder (@elorganillero) July 27, 2022
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On Monday morning, April 2, 1683, according to my usual course I set myself in my study to plead with god for his church, this nation and our congregations. God did wonderfully draw out my heart, and my soul was warm and working busily at it. My wife called me down upon a slight occasion, I came down, chid her, and gave her sharp words, though alas she was ignorant of what I was doing. She took it sadly, fell a-weeping, was disconsolate all that day. Satan got hold, foisted vain imaginations into her mind, helped her to make bad constructions of it. That day we had little conference, but the morning after we discoursed it, I confessed my fault and folly in my passionate finding fault with her, and vain-glory in discovering what I was doing. We knelt down by the bed-side, I prayed, we both wept, were comfortably closed. This worked kindly on my heart through grace, I got to my study, fell to my reading my chapters, praying god sweetly helped, so in the family, then I resolved to spend the remainder of that forenoon in that sweet work, so I designed to confess my own sins, before that reading and commenting on Psalms 38, then prostrating myself, reckoning with grief what sins I could call to mind. Rose up, read Psalms 51, then fell down, pleaded for pardon, grace, for myself, wife. Then was taken off, returned, read Psalms 69, fell down, pleaded with god for church, nation, king, yet was not so large and enlarged as in the former.
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