Joseph Philpot
Joseph Philpot (1802-1869) was a Strict and Particular Baptist preacher. In 1838 he was appointed the Pastor of the Churches at Oakham and Stamford, during which time he became acquainted with the Gospel Standard. In 1849, he was appointed the Editor for the Gospel Standard Magazine, a position he held for twenty-nine years (nine years as joint Editor and twenty years as sole Editor).
Joseph Philpot's Letters
Joseph Philpot's Sermons
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The New Covenant And The Blood Of Sprinkling
A Sermon Preached By Joseph Philpot At North Street Chapel, Stamford, on Lord's Day Morning, March 31, 1861 "And to Jesus the mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better things than that of Abel." Hebrews 12:24 In the two verses immediately preceding our text, the apostle holds up to our view a rich cluster of gospel blessings as the happy and enduring portion of the redeemed and regenerated family of God. But in order to bring them more vividly and impressively before our eyes, he draws a contrast between the two dispensations—that of the law and that of the gospel; his intention being thereby to show more clearly and effectually that the believer in Christ is delivered from…
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The Cause Of True Religion
March 30, 1835. My dear sister Fanny,—The tidings I am about to communicate may concern you more than surprise you. After many trials of mind about it, I have come to the resolution of seceding from the Church of England. In fact I have already resigned my curacy, and shall, in a day or two, give up my Fellowship. I could have wished to have retained my income and independence, but, as I could not do so with a good conscience, I was compelled to give it up. The errors and corruptions of the Church of England are so great and numerous that a man, with a conscience made tender by the blessed Spirit, cannot, after a certain time, remain within her pale. And though…
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The Free, Eternal, Sovereign And Unalterable Love Of God
December 12, 1834. My dear Mrs. Rackham,—Having an opportunity of sending a letter to town, I avail myself of it to redeem my promise of writing to you. You are now, doubtless, thoroughly settled in your new abode, and in some measure reconciled to your mode of life. The noise and bustle of Rochester must have seemed very strange to you at first, and I dare say you have often turned in thought to your former quiet abode, where almost the only noise was from the brook that ran by your window. But if faith is in exercise, the hand of God will be seen in this change. And besides, what does it really matter where we spend the few years of our pilgrimage here…
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The Hidden Manna, The White Stone And The New Name
A Sermon Preached by Joseph Philpot at Gower Street Chapel, London, on Lord's Day Morning, June 21, 1868 "He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it.”—Revelation 2:17 I do not know a more solemn or weighty part of the Word of God than the messages, which our gracious Lord sent by the hand of John to the seven churches in Asia, which we find contained in chapters 2 and 3 of the Book of Revelation. As introductory to these messages, and…
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Those Living In Glass Houses Don’t Throw Stones
December 11, 1834. My dear Friend Parry,—Having a favorable opportunity of transmitting you a letter by a private hand, I sit down to write you a few lines. And, first, let me ask how the things of the Lord are going on in your soul? Are you, like most of us in these parts, saying "My leanness, my leanness! woe unto me!" Are you putting your mouth in the dust—if so be there may be hope? Are you crying with Paul of old, "O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?" Are you indulged with views of the atoning blood and justifying righteousness of Immanuel? Do you see yourself complete in Him, and is He to you…
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Feeling I Have No Grace Or Religion
October 1, 1834. My dear Tiptaft,—I have been kept from writing to you, sometimes from occupation, sometimes from sloth, and sometimes from the feeling that I could write nothing profitable. Every day, indeed, I seem to see more and more that I have little or no grace. And at these times, when I can draw to the throne of grace and ask the Lord to work in and upon my soul, I seem to have less grace than ever. At such times, and I have been occasionally favored with a little earnestness, I feel everything in me so shallow, so unreal, so little like the mighty work of the Spirit on the soul. The fountains of the great deep are not broken up, and all…
