grace, grace, grace

I know not a word which can express the surprise and wonder our souls ought to feel
at God’s goodness to us. Our hearts playing the harlot; our lives far from perfect;
our faith almost blown out; our unbelief often prevailing; our pride lifting up its
accursed head; our patience a poor sickly plant, almost nipped by one night’s frost;
our courage little better than cowardice; our love lukewarmness; our ardour but as
ice—oh, my dear brethren, if we will but think any one of us what a mass of sin we
are, if we will but reflect that we are after all, as one of the fathers writes, “walking
dunghills,” we should indeed be surprised that the sun of divine grace should
continue so perpetually to shine upon us, and that the abundance of heaven’s mercy
should be revealed in us. -C.H. Spurgeon

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