“Everything I meet with,” writes Whitefield, “seems to carry this voice with it—‘Go thou and preach the Gospel; be a pilgrim on earth; have no party or certain dwelling place.’ My heart echoes back, ‘Lord Jesus, help me to do or suffer thy will. When thou seest me in danger of nestling —in pity—in tender pity—put a thorn in my nest to prevent me from it.’ ”
The loathing of “capital” with which our laboring classes today are growing more and more infected seems largely composed of this sound sentiment of antipathy for lives based on mere having. As an anarchist poet writes:—