The Life And Ministry Of George Wiltshire

Gospel Standard 1897:

A Brief Sketch Of The Experience Of The Late George Wiltshire, Dedicated To His Ever Affectionate And Dearly Beloved Tryphena. 

“May the dear Lord grant that I, a poor unworthy sinner, may not write one word more than I have handled, tasted, and felt, though, no doubt, you will find in my narrative a part of what I have already told you of my experience. But I wish you to have things in a more straightforward course, as, perhaps, you may have to peruse this epistle over again, when the hand that now writes to you is silent in the tomb.

“I was born in sin on the 7^th day of February, 1812, and brought up by religious parents, one of whom, I believe, is now in glory, and the other, as soon as the Lord thinks fit, will be there with him, to shout of rich, free, and unmerited grace. I was brought up by them after as strictly moral an example as lay in their power; but now I can see that I was afar off from God by wicked works, and, dying in that state, hell would have been my portion; but, blessed be God, he had thoughts of love toward me. In my childhood and youth I was not permitted to run to such lengths of open sin as many are, as from the earliest period of my remembrance I had cutting convictions for sin when I committed it. I was kept from swearing and blaspheming, but could tell an untruth at times, to serve my turn upon different occasions; but even then I had bitter remorse for it, as I had more natural light as a lad than many; and constantly hearing, through my parents and from the pulpit, about the awful place that awaited sinners in another world, I could not help thinking over things at times, and was made to start at the thoughts of death. I remember once, when at school, in reading the Bible, I came to this passage: ‘And it shall come to pass, that whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved’ (Acts 2:21). I thought the day referred to in the preceding verse was the day of judgment, and that if I went on as I was then, and put off all thoughts of death until the end, I should be saved if I called upon his name and which I intended.

“In this way I went on, sometimes sinning and sometimes repenting, till I arrived at the age of fifteen, which was about the time that the Master of Assemblies fastened the nail in a sure place, even in my poor heart. If I am not awfully deceived, I was aroused from the sleep of death in the following manner: One night I dreamt that I and my sister Myra and my brother Eleazar were riding on a coach, with plenty of company, all very jovial, when we came to a very wide and pleasant road, at the top of which was a rough, narrow, thorny road, leading off on one side; and seeing in my dream one man beating his way up this thorny road, with his staff in his hand, I thought what a fool he was to go that way, when he could have gone such a pleasant way with us, as there was plenty of company in our way, both walking and riding. But I left him to follow his own way, and I went mine, till at length I looked forward, and I thought I saw at the end of our fine road a very large gulf, and out of it ascended large flames of fire, and, to my surprise, I saw the company that were before us drop into this gulf one by one, where they sank to rise no more, the sight of which very much alarmed me. But just before I came to this gulf I awoke, and lo! it was a dream, but such a one as I shall never forget while I remain on this earthly ball. When I awoke I began crying, or whether I was crying in my sleep I am not quite certain; but I well remember that in the morning, as I was going to the fields to milk the cows, I wet the path with my tears. I knew there was something the matter, but what I could hardly tell; but thinking over my dream, I began interpreting, and I thought the wide road that we were going along represented the road to hell, and the narrow thorny path, with the one person traveling up it, was the road to heaven, and which I had despised, and that I was speeding my course down the broad road that leads to hell, and which would certainly be my place if I died in the state I was then in; the thoughts of which caused bitterness to enter into my poor distressed soul, and forced that earnest cry of the publican from my heart, ‘God be merciful to me a sinner,’ and which was my cry day and night, when awake, for a long time.

“Well do I remember the lonely spots where, under a sense of my sins of childhood and youth, I was made to groan and cry for mercy; but no sooner did I begin to cry, than the devil began to roar, although I knew not that it was the devil; but since I have seen that it was Satan trying to shut my eyes against the light and operations of the blessed Spirit. The first thing that he suggested to my mind was that I was too young to think anything about dying yet, as there would be plenty of time to think about it when I got older; and that if I did associate with that dull, mopish set of people (God’s people), I should lose all my pleasure and comforts in the world. O how he tried me on this head! and kept me back from opening my mind or saying a word to my parents or any one else about the trouble I was in. Sometimes it seemed as though I must hearken to his suggestions and put off all such thoughts; but, blessed be the name of the Lord, he is stronger than the devil, and it is he who keeps alive the souls of his dear children, and so I found it. I remember one time, when hearing a Mr. Chapman, of Trowbridge, speaking from these words, ‘The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God,’ the sound of his words so thundered in my conscience as to arouse me again. O, the groans, cries, and sighs felt by a poor soul that is labouring under a burden of guilt, none can tell but those who have been in the same place! I remember once, under a sight and sense of my vileness, and being with my father and brothers in the field, I was obliged to withdraw from them to give vent to my feelings; but being called for, I was forced to wipe away my tears and put on as cheerful a countenance as I could, for fear they would notice that something was the matter. O, the many uneasy hours and days I have had because I could not open my mind to any one upon earth! But the Lord knew my heart. I believe I was kept back by the devil and that bold-faced villain, shame, and partly from a pure motive, as I used to think I would keep it all to myself and the Lord, until I could believe that the work of grace was begun in reality in my soul, for I always dreaded the thought of hypocrisy, or of appearing to be what I was not; but sometimes such a passage as this would cut me to the quick: ‘If these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out.’ I thought, that as I could not break through to open my mind to talk to God’s people, I was one of those that held their peace, the thought of which sunk me fathoms deep. But even in these bitter seasons I can look back and see the good hand of the Lord at times lifting me up to hope in his mercy, and that I should one day be delivered from my misery. The first promise that I can remember being applied to me was this: ‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ I knew that I was heavy laden, therefore such a promise was suitable to me, as at times it caused me to raise my drooping spirits. Another thing I would remark: I was, from a child, brought up under a sound ministry, in which the doings of the creature were debased even to the dust; therefore I was not set to work out a righteousness of my own, as many of God’s children are in their first settings out, some of whom made me to fear that my spot was not the spot of God’s children, when hearing them relate their experience, and how hard they strove and tried to work out their own righteousness. But as I always heard the truth, and such things cut against, I had my judgment enlightened more than some had. Sometimes I was afraid that I had not a law-work deep enough on my conscience; and that as I was not shaken over hell’s mouth as some were, it caused the devil to tell me that mine was not a right beginning, and that it was only a dream. So I used to think, if I had been cut down under the Word, or in reading a passage, or like Paul, the apostle, that then I could have a hope that the work was begun. O, the pangs and cries of my poor soul in those seasons, none can tell but myself, as I kept it all to myself for years, sometimes hoping he would set my soul at liberty, then again fearing he never would.

“I remember, at times, when walking out with my dear mother, and wanting to open my mind to her, and trembling for fear to do it, the words have come up to the roof of my mouth, but that arch foe has kept them from coming out of my mouth. Still the change was visible to my friends, as I have heard them say, they hoped the work was begun in me.

“But this snare was broken at last. As I was journeying with a dear old saint, named Stephen Taylor, and as he had a bundle to carry, I asked him if I should carry it for him; he consented, and our conversation turned upon soul-concerns. He asked me if I thought anything about Jesus Christ or my never-dying soul. I tremblingly told him that I hoped I did. He then asked me what first led me to hope. I told him the dream I had, the feelings of my mind, how I had been brought along, and what I laboured under. The dear old man gave me some sweet, encouraging advice, and for about two miles we had sweet conversation together. O what a burden was taken off my mind, that I had been enabled to tell my sad case to one of God’s children! it proved to be one deadly blow for the devil, as he could not so strongly come upon me on that head again. The next person that I prattled to was our old friend, Jane Pegler, till at length my case became known to many of God’s family, that I was acquainted with. But this did not prove a solid rock for me to rest upon, viz., that my case was known to God’s family, as the one thing needful that I wanted to know for myself was, that I had an interest in the blood of Christ. But for this he kept me a long time waiting before he administered the healing balm to my soul. I could see others walking at large, but that would not satisfy me.

“As this was about the period of my life that I call my giddy age, I had much to encounter from without and from within the temptations of the devil, and the working of my wicked nature, which at times made me quake, and fear that I should not hold out unto the end. The devil would tempt me, at times, to believe that there would be no harm for me to do certain things to gratify my desires, as such and such of God’s ancient saints had done the same to gratify theirs, and were gone safe to heaven, and the harm would be no more for me than for them. Well do I remember the spot where this temptation pressed sore upon me, and with shame I will say, I only escaped with the skin of my teeth; and with one of old I can say, ‘My feet were almost gone; my steps had well nigh slipped,’ but thou alone hast held me up. But no praise to me; all glory to his precious Name; he has all power in his hands, even strength for the weak, wisdom for those that are out of the way, and rest for the weary.

“For ten years was I kept with my burden bound to my shoulder before I could get a sight of that cross that my dear Lord hung upon for me. Sometimes I hoped, as it were, against hope, sometimes grew cold and dead and careless about my poor soul, and then again a gleam of hope would arise, when hearing the footsteps of the flock traced out, that I was in the way. Were it not for these little hill Mizars, I think that a poor, sin-sick soul would sink into despair. Well do I remember one soul-melting season previous to my deliverance: As I was working in a ditch I had such a humbling view of myself, my unworthiness and nothingness, and could only marvel that the dear Lord should ever have stopped such a poor wretch as I was in my mad career, and put the cry into iny soul, ‘What must I do to be saved?’ O what a sight it was! What love to my dear Redeemer I then felt! I shall never forget it while I am in the body. But even this did not prove a sufficiently solid rock for me to rest upon, as I wanted something powerfully applied to my poor soul to tell me that I was one of God’s jewels. O, the thousands of prayers and groans that ascended up to heaven from my heart for this revelation! My friends used to say that perhaps I should never have it as I expected; they would say, it seemed as though I wanted Jesus Christ to call me by name. I would reply to them, that I must have some more powerful manifestation than I had yet received, or I should not be satisfied; and, blessed be his dear Name, he granted it to me in his own time.

“When the dear Lord showed me his wounded side and bleeding hands, and enabled me, by precious faith, to believe that he groaned and died for such an unworthy worm as I, it was a time of love to me. This happened, if I am not awfully deluded, on the 13th August, 1837, while hearing Mr. Beard, of Malmesbury, preach from the words of the apostle Paul (Col. 1:13), ‘Who hath delivered us from the power of darkness, and hath translated us into the kingdom of his dear Son.’ It was not when he read the text, nor yet when he began his sermon, that I felt my chains knocked off, but as he went on tracing out the character that was delivered from the power of darkness, and the footsteps of God’s children. O, the power, light, love, liberty, joy and peace in believing, I then felt, I cannot now describe to the full! I then knew something of what it was to look for my sins, but they could not be found. I thought I could plainly see the Lord Jesus Christ hanging betwixt earth and heaven for me. I thought, if I had a thousand gallons of blood in my body, I could have spilt it all for his dear sake. At the close of the sermon my dear uncle Davis, whom I esteem as a father, gave out that hymn of Cennick’s, commencing

‘Jesus, my All, to heaven is gone,

He whom I fix my hopes upon;

His track I see, and I’ll pursue

The narrow way, till him I view.’

“O what a suitable song of praise that was to me! I could scarcely sing for the joy and rapture I then felt, but was enabled to ping with the spirit and the understanding. I could not tell how my burden went; but it was gone, and I could not bring it back again. But the reason was this: the Lord having given peace, who then could give trouble? I went on my way rejoicing, and could look at the rich, rolling along in their carriages, and not envy them their happiness, as I could see that trifles were theirs, but a kingdom was mine. I longed to get into the fields to my work, so that, when alone, I might pour out my soul to my God, and bless and praise his dear Name who had been so merciful to me at this season.

“I went on for some time, and could not hold my peace, but had to tell the Lord’s family what he had done for my soul. But after awhile the Lord saw fit, for wise ends, to use the pruning knife; and though it was painful to me, yet I can now see that it was profitable, as at that time I had sweet liberty in secret prayer, and sweet seasons in his house, and his word was precious to my soul; yea, I did esteem it more than my necessary food, and had not much charity for God’s tried and afflicted children, but was ready to believe, sometimes, it was their own fault that they did not have some sweet morsels under the word as well as myself. I used to say to some of them, ‘Cannot you remember the time when you felt a little light and joy in your soul?’ But their answer was, very often, ‘It is very dark within; and so their company did not prove to be very edifying to me. But the Lord saw fit that I should know a little of the plague of my own heart. I believe the first galling season that I felt after this feasting time was as follows: Having had sweet intercourse with my God, and sweet liberty in secret prayer, sometimes, before I was scarcely off my knees, the devil would be bloating me up with spiritual pride to a great height, and telling me, if I could get on as well as that in chapel if called upon to pray, what the people would think of me, and how bright I should shine. Well, I thought, if I were called upon to engage in prayer at a prayer meeting, I certainly would try. The day came; and well do I remember my workings of mind, begging the Lord to be with me and grant me a word to say, and at the same time trying to form as grand a prayer of my own as I could. O, the hypocrisy of the human heart! The evening came, and my uncle called upon me to spend a few moments in prayer. I began, but I believe I had not said more than about ten words, when it seemed as though I could not say another; such confusion, darkness, trembling, and horror came over my mind as I never experienced before nor since. Down I fell on the seat, and my uncle, seeing the state I was in, concluded for me; but the shame that I felt caused me to wish for a place where to put my head out of sight. I called myself a fool for attempting to open my mouth before his children; but my uncle gave me some encouraging words when the service was over, and also told me that he expected the devil would come upon me for it, which I found to be true, as in the night I could scarcely get any sleep, but twisted and turned and groaned upon my bed, the devil tell- ing me that it was all a delusion, and that there was nothing in me, or else the Lord would have heard my prayers and been with me.

“But though this was a painful lesson, yet I have found it a profitable one, as it has taught me where my great strength lieth, Since that time I have been enabled to face the devil again, having proved the Lord to be dear unto me again, in that he has granted me a word to say when calling upon him in public as well as in private. He has also given me to experience the bitters and the sweets; what it is to carry about with me a body of sin and death, and a desperately wicked heart, together with the temptations of the devil and the allurements of the world, which at times make me to groan and sigh, and fear lest it should be a delusion after all. But this I can say, that it is my earnest desire to be searched and tried to the bottom; and if I am not right, that I may be put right; and I believe it is the desire of your soul also. But I must conclude.

“From yours ever affectionately, 

“George Wiltshire.”

My dear husband sent me the above account before our marriage, which took place in 1841, and we lived happily together in the fear of the Lord for over 54 years, and I can say, “Not one good thing has failed us of all that the Lord has promised,” though we experienced many trials in bringing up our large family.

The first seven years was one scene of losses and crosses, which brought my dear husband at times very low. Being by nature soon lifted up by worldly prosperity, the Lord saw fit in this way to keep him down. On one occasion, when in deep trouble, these words were brought with great power to his mind: “I will open rivers in the desert;” which came to pass in a wonderful manner; also many times through his long pilgrimage the Lord has appeared to him in a blessed manner, often giving him precious answers to prayer.

He was baptized at Studley when in his 28th year, and continued a member up to his death, being a deacon about forty years of that period. He was well known to many of the ministers now gone home, such as Philpot, Warburton, Tiptaft, Godwin, Smart, and others, and was truly a lover of good men, and never considered anything too much that he could do for them.

I now come to his last days. In 1883 he gave up his holding at Studley, where he had lived all his life, and came to live at Calne. This was a great trial to us both, but proved to be amongst the “All things that work together for good” to them that fear the Lord, as we had a comfortable home near our children. Still, Studley was the place most dear to him, being, as he often said, the place of his first and second birth, and there he would go to worship almost every Sunday till within nine months of his death, though many times I felt he was scarcely able to walk the distance, especially towards the last, for we could see, for twelve months past, that both body and mind were failing, and that he was nearing his eternal home. But oh! how anxious he was that matters should be right between him and his God! He used often to say, “Oh to be made ready and willing to die!” also, “What a dreadful thing to be lost!” He used often in family worship to beg the Lord that he might have nothing to do but to die, and never forgot his children, begging that “not a hoof might be left behind” to perish. The last special blessing he had under the word was in hearing Mr. Popham, at Sandy Lane, from these words: “Except ye eat the flesh and drink the blood of the Son of man, ye have no life in you.” He had been so tried upon that point for weeks previous.

In January, 1895, he was taken with what appeared to be a fit, but proved to be gout on the brain, from which he never really recovered, and ended in softening of the brain, so that he could say but very little; yet, though quite lost to temporal things, he would engage in prayer and converse on spiritual things (at times) till near the end. He scarcely spoke or took any notice for the last fortnight, and peacefully passed away on Monday, July 15th, aged 83 years, and was buried by Mr. Hemington at the Nonconformist Cemetery, Calne. 

T. W.